


Shatter

by Herald_of_Dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azkaban trope, Bellatrix is Awesome, Black shenanigans, Character Bashing, DE Harry, DE Sirius, Dark Harry Potter, Dark! Harry, Dark! Sirius, Don't Post Off-Site Without Permission!, M/M, Not for Hermione Granger fans, Off-screen past non-con mentioned, Possible Mpreg, Spoiler Alert: Dark Wins, not for severus snape fans, possibly ooc characters, several characters die, some Pureblood Culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2021-04-10
Packaged: 2021-04-18 23:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 56,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herald_of_Dreams/pseuds/Herald_of_Dreams
Summary: 1993. Harry Potter is imprisoned at age 12 for life for the murder of Ginerva Weasley. He's innocent, but left the diary behind. His next-door cellmate is Sirius Black. Four years later... Voldemort arrives.Harry senses an opportunity. A prophecy shatters.Dumbledore and his precious Order had better watch out.Dark! More so than anything I've written before.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange/Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius Black/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (past)
Comments: 722
Kudos: 4122
Collections: Cate’s Favorite Harry Potter Fanfics, Dark Liege Potter, Harry Potter FFs, Mr Potter and Mr Riddle, Read Again They Were Good (clayrin), The Harry Potters





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know... Another Sirius/Harry fic. What can I say, I like these two! This may turn into a trio, we'll see. This will be updated every two weeks or so, I have five prewritten chapters after the prologue. I was trying not to post it since I have three active fics, but this one has me *really* excited.
> 
> WARNING: Mentioned past non-con. Language. Not overt, but it's there.  
Note: I don't own Harry Potter.  
2nd Note: Several people have asked, so I'll post this here. I don't write Top! Harry stories. Sorry.

They had turned on him. Again. Really by now he should have expected it. At the slightest thought that he was going Dark, that he was learning magic they didn’t approve of, they turned on him. He’d been lax, letting his guard down. Trusting them again, how it was biting him now. He stood behind his bars, staring out into the black of the prison with grim eyes and a cold, depreciating smile. His green eyes were nearly black now, hair in matted tangles that fell past his waist. The guards had taken his glasses away, an attempt to break him by reducing him to fuzzy vision.

They had tried so hard to break him, these guards. Really, it was quite pitiful. _He_ had been pitiful at the beginning, screaming in agony as they broke his bones and cast endless rounds of the Cruciatus Curse upon his malnourished body. And then one of the guards had decided to get _physical, _wanting to contact of breaking bone and marking his skin with his fists. He’d been fourteen the first time one of them had extended the physical punishment to include rape.

He was seventeen now, a legal adult if he’d been in the wizarding world. Sentenced to Azkaban prison at twelve, he’d not bothered to watch the passage of time more than Cornelius Fudge’s yearly review. Every time the cowardly little man in his bowler hat came by, he’d promised himself someday he would see that man screaming on the floor as he had been. Sentenced with life in medium security for murder at twelve, he’d spent the entire time in maximum security.

At first the Dementors had been hell, reducing him to a sobbing ball on the floor every time they went by. Soon though, the prisoner next to him had realized who he was and wriggled through his bars as a skinny, emaciated dog, curling up at his side. His name was Sirius Black and he was his godfather, illegally imprisoned for betraying Harry’s parents to the Dark Lord in November of 1981.

Because of course, his name was Harry James Potter. Boy-Who-Lived, Savior, yada yada. Most recently his title had been _murderer, traitor, scum_ or to the guards, _whore._ They hadn’t touched him in two years, ever since he’d used ‘accidental’ magic to render one man permanently impotent. Harry laughed darkly remembering the man’s terrified, enraged face when he realized what had happened. The beating he’d gotten had been worth it.

Of course his magic wasn’t accidental at all. When some of his fellow inmates had realized how strong his magic was, they had teamed up to teach him wandless magic, how to focus his will to make his magic do what he wanted it to. They had also taught him Occlumency and when they realized he was doing it unconsciously, Legilimency. He was a natural at the latter, which made learning the former just that much harder. He’d persevered, forcing himself to learn how to control his mind and lock away his thoughts.

Oh the horror Dumbledore would feel now, knowing that he’d been taught wandless magic and mind magic as well as others by convicted Death Eaters and the man who had supposedly betrayed his parents. The shock might just kill him. _We could only hope,_ Harry thought darkly.

The atmosphere had been electric in the prison for the past several weeks, ever since the Death Eater’s marks had grown dark and fresh-looking, meaning that Voldemort was once again amongst them. Harry wasn’t nearly as conflicted as he thought he would feel. Yes, the man had killed his parents. Yes he had tried to kill Harry. But quite frankly, it was war.

Harry’s parents had made their choice, choosing to fight instead of worrying about their new family. They hadn’t even gone into hiding until after he was born, both actively fighting until Lily’s pregnancy was too far gone for her to use magic. Bitterly Harry realized that if they had cared about him just a bit more, they wouldn’t have risked their lives fighting in the first place. Their sheer lack of planning made him angry as well, because of them Sirius had suffered because no one had known about the switch.

Harry was certain that Sirius’ viewpoint had shifted as well, as soon as he had appeared in the prison. It had been hard enough for the man being tossed aside when he’d done everything he could to protect his brother in all but blood. Seeing his twelve-year-old godson dragged in like a piece of filth and tossed into a cell to rot had to have broken any last remnants of his restraint. He knew the man had been plotting for years what he was going to do to the guards that had hurt Harry. Harry let him plot, it kept him occupied and a bored Sirius Black was a dangerous thing.

Night fell, the day shift guards left and the night ones started their rounds. These were Harry’s tormentors, the ones who had made his life even more miserable for five years. He licked his dry, chapped lips and retreated to the back wall of his cell, under the tiny barred window that looked out into the perpetual storms that seemed to surround Azkaban prison thanks to the Dementors’ presence. One of the creatures floated by his cell and Harry stared at it from underneath long, sooty lashes with narrowed eyes.

They had long since stopped affecting him. Sure they made him bitterly cold as they floated by, but he hadn’t been affected by them in years, ever since he’d perfected his Occlumency barriers. He could vaguely hear his mother screaming if he concentrated, otherwise they were an inconvenience more than anything.

The night passed in its slow, dismal fashion, someone in another cell occasionally shrieking in their sleep as a Dementor passed. Harry remained awake, sitting in the back of his cell. He’d started sleeping in the day and remaining awake at night, he wasn’t as concerned with the daylight guards as these _people._ No, turning his back on them was like trusting a wild animal to sleep in your bed.

There was a terrifically loud _boom,_ the floor under Harry’s feet shaking. He shot to his feet, staying against the wall. Soon screaming reached his ears and flashes of spells lit the dark walls. Raising his fingers, he sent a little _zap_ of his magic into the next cell to wake Sirius, the man could sleep like the dead.

“I’m awake,” Sirius grunted, “what the hell was that noise?”

“Don’t know,” Harry whispered, voice hoarse. “Doesn’t sound like it’s good for the guards though.”

Sirius practically growled. “Don’t care about them, most of them deserve it.”

Harry snorted; the sound painful on his dry throat. They hadn’t had water in days aside from what dribbled down the stone walls of their cells from the biting rain.

Silence fell, eerie in the sheer completeness of the sound. Even the rain had fallen silent, the perpetual pounding on the outside walls ceasing. Straining his ears, he heard the soft sound of voices, a creaking sound of rusted iron swinging open. He extended his magic out cautiously, sending it seeking for the cause. It hit a thing of smothering _darkness,_ something that was swallowing the light around it and absorbing magic in infinite amounts.

Retracting his magic, Harry said quietly, “I think the Dark Lord is here. I haven't met him before, but that presence is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.”

Sirius was quiet next to him, but he heard the hitch of the man’s breath.

Harry cautiously gathered his magic around him, pushing away from the wall. He extended his aura a bit, readying his mental shields. His magic became visible, lazily swirling around his hands and body in swirling ribbons of acid green and gold. It was mere moments before he sensed movement in the dark, the whisper of fabric against stone.

Voldemort stood in front of him, staring at him through the bars with piercing crimson eyes. His skin was milky pale, his fingers long and thin. His wand of yew looked like an extension of his arm, held loosely in an almost relaxed manner.

“Voldemort,” Harry said, coolly.

The man blinked his strange eyes in annoyance, but didn’t react otherwise.

“Potter.”

“Hello Potter, cousin,” Bella chirped. Dear Bella, who had taught him so much about the Dark Arts.

“Bellatrix,” Harry replied, a small smile working its way onto his face.

“How’ve you been holding up, Potter?” Grunted another voice, one that was almost a growl.

“Not bad, Fenrir. None of those idiots have tried to touch me since poor Darrell. I feel so _bad_ for giving him what he deserved,” Harry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Fenrir and several of the others chuckled darkly, remembering Darrell’s incapacitated rage after he’d realized what Harry had done to him. Voldemort was watching him interact with his Death Eaters, the majority being in his Inner Circle. He hadn’t said anything yet so Harry was ignoring him, speaking in turn with Rookwood and the two Lestrange brothers. Antonin Dolohov slinked near the back, staring at Harry with resentment. He’d never understood why so many pureblood wizards and witches had been ‘_wasting their time and energy’_ on him, a half-blood.

“You know, Potter,” Voldemort finally spoke, “I should just end your miserable existence. Stuck here in this cell for five years you’d probably be thankful for the mercy. Or,” he said thoughtfully, tapping his wand lightly against one of the bars of his cell, “I could just _leave _you here, if I wasn’t feeling merciful. I’ve seen some of your experience here in Azkaban through my followers’ memories, it would be a far better way to defeat you, to leave you rotting in a cell.”

Dolohov smirked in amusement, only for the expression to fall off his face at the lack of reaction from Harry to Voldemort’s words. Harry barely resisted rolling his eyes, Dolohov was _so_ unsuitable to being a member of the Inner Circle it wasn’t even funny. The man didn’t have a subtle bone in his body.

“You could,” Harry answered conversationally, “I mean, you have the power at the moment. Either one would no doubt be a rich reward to you, especially since eventually the _idiots_ who put me here are going to realize I didn’t kill the Weasley chit. They’ll come here crying buckets about how they’ve wronged me and how they don’t deserve to be forgiven, expecting me to fall back in line like some obedient little puppy.”

Voldemort’s lips twisted in a cruel smile, anticipating Harry’s words. “But you wouldn’t fall back in line, would you Potter?”

Harry snorted, stepped forward and put his thin arms through his cell, crossing them outside the bars and leaning against the cell like it was a banister. “You want to know something? When I first was Sorted, I was a shoo-in for Slytherin. I’d lived with abusive relatives for eleven years and then I found out about magic. I was _expected_ to look like my father with my mother’s eyes, I was _expected_ to be good at nothing really except Defense Against the Dark Arts and flying. The last thing they _expected,_ was for me to be more concerned about _moi_ than anyone else and to consider cunning and ambition to be good things.”

His eyes hardened. “If they were to walk into this prison tomorrow and free me, begging forgiveness and telling me I needed to fight for them because I was their precious Boy-Who-Lived, I’d tell them to stick their demands where the sun doesn’t shine, after giving a certain few people a bit more _thanks._”

“My Lord,” Bellatrix said softly, cringing a little when crimson eyes swung to focus on her, “my cousin and Potter are powerful wizards, Potter is extraordinary even for a half-blood. We have taught him wandless magic and Occlumency. He is also an Animagus thanks to my cousin’s teachings and a natural Legilimens.”

“Yup,” Harry said dryly. “made my Inheritance a bitch, I can tell you that. Couldn’t move for days afterwards.”

“We heard your screaming when your Inheritance hit, you worried us lil’ bit,” Rabastan said, grinning.

“Glad to know you care,” Harry deadpanned.

“One thing Voldemort,” Harry said, enjoying the small twitch near the man’s eyes at his name being spoken aloud, “if you decide I’m worth the trouble, _he’s _non-negotiable.” And he loosened his right hand to point at the cell next to him, where Sirius was.

“The last I knew, Black,” Voldemort said, eyes narrow, “you were a firm part of Dumbledore’s precious Order. I was surprised by you honestly; I wasn’t expecting you to last long in the war.”

“Yeah well, there’s a reason why none of your guys ever came out of fights against me alive, Voldemort.”

Ignoring the use of his name, Voldemort gave a dark laugh, staring at Black. “You tried so hard to get away from your family and where did that land you?”

“Oh believe me, the irony of it bit hard in the past sixteen years,” Sirius said bitterly. “As for being part of the Order, I kissed them goodbye the moment they threw me in here without a backward glance or even a trial. And Dumbledore got onto the lead of my personal shit list the moment my twelve-year-old godson was dragged into this black hole.”

“So you would both join my cause? I would mark you both, be well aware of that,” Voldemort warned.

“We’re aware. One condition? Don’t go curse-happy on us if we use your name on occasion? We’re kinda used to it by now,” Sirius grinned cheekily.

Voldemort actually sighed. It was such a defeated sound it almost made Harry laugh. Odd, he hadn’t laughed in years.

“Very well, but don’t abuse the privilege,” he warned.

“We won’t,” Harry promised.

“Step back,” Voldemort warned him.

Harry backed up a few paces and his eyebrow arched when in response Voldemort blasted the locking mechanism on his cell to slivers with an overpowered _bombarda._ He stepped out of his cell and promptly got wrapped up in a hug by an exuberant Bellatrix. By the time he’d wriggled out of her hold Sirius was out of his cell. He wrapped an arm around his godfather’s waist, feeling the man give a slight sigh into his hair.

“Let us leave, the Ministry will be here anytime now to reinforce the guards.”

Spotting a pair of guards that were unconscious but alive, Harry gave a feral grin. “Can we bring them along?”

Voldemort looked at him for a long moment and then nodded. He bound the pair with ropes and watched in silence as Harry wandlessly levitated them, dragging them along like a pair of macabre marionettes.

The rain pelted his skin like tiny sharp teeth, but it was a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. Harry turned his face into the rain and laughed, delighted. He was soaked to the bone in a matter of seconds, but he didn’t care. Eventually Sirius walked over and wrapped an arm around his too-skinny waist, leading him over to where Voldemort and the Death Eaters had assembled.

He held out a rope, which Harry took with one hand.

“_Portus,”_ Voldemort said and they were gone.

Wherever they were going, it had to be better than what he’d left behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posting another chapter on this, glad to see people like this one so far! It's far darker than what I usually write, but I'm enjoying exploring a different aspect to familiar characters.
> 
> Notes: Last mention of past non-con. Some language, very mild.  
Note: If you're reading my other in progress works, I am currently working on a chapter for When Legends Rise, but I just started online college classes and it's been *interesting* to get back into the habit of studying as well as working it around a job.

Where they were going turned out to be Malfoy Manor. Harry had laughed in cold delight spotting Draco Malfoy’s enraged expression when he had turned up with the Death Eaters. The fact that Draco _loathed _him was none of his concern, he couldn’t do a damn thing about Harry being here. Voldemort had made it clear to the Malfoy family, he and Sirius were _guests,_ soon to be initiated Death Eaters. Harry had the distinct feeling Voldemort was plotting something, he was a Dark Lord, of course he was plotting. But _what?_

Harry didn’t know, but the idea intrigued and excited him. Next to him Sirius had merely chuckled, his voice rough. He’d smirked at his cold, refined cousin and said, “Hey, Cissy.”

The look she’d given him back would have had him six feet under if she’d had a wand. Harry had growled in response, green eyes darkening in response to his anger. The woman had actually _flinched,_ regaining her composure a moment later and huffily leaving the room.

“Down, Harry,” Sirius said casually, as if talking to a dog. Harry glowered at him in response. Just because his Animagus was a canine…

They had been escorted by house elves to a large, open room with several beds and ordered by Healers to strip and shower. It had been heavenly to strip several years of grime off his skin, Harry had turned his skin red rubbing off the grime, ignoring the bite of the hot water as it struck his open wounds. He hadn’t been able to do much for his hair. Eyeing it in distaste in the mirror, he realized it would be best to just shave it.

That’s what the Healer waiting for him outside his shower did, using a spell to cleanly shave the hair off his head, reducing him to a bare scalp that was easier to treat and clean. They could grow their hair back afterwards using a potion. It would have felt slightly embarrassing to walk into the room with a shaved head if everyone else didn’t have the same look going. Sirius particularly didn’t look happy at being bald, he was sitting with his arms crossed and his back pointedly facing the mirror in the room.

Harry snorted, moving to sit next to him. He poured them both a glass of cold, clean water, both men relishing the idea they could have water whenever they wanted and not have it parceled out by men who delighted in making them beg. Harry idly wondered if his two ‘friends’ had woken up yet, chuckling darkly at their likely reactions to waking up in a cell.

They waited quietly for one of the two Healers to finish with the others, not in any hurry. After the hot shower Harry really wanted to do nothing other than sleep, but he knew he needed to be healed from his experience in the prison. Likely it would end with a few spells and a prescribed potions regimen, the malnourishment and torture he’d experienced wasn’t going to heal instantly. His hands still shook even now from the amount of _Crucios_ he’d been under over the years.

He moved only once as they waited, to sit on Sirius’ right side and lean against his shoulder. By instinct almost the older man’s arm wound around his waist, tugging him closer. They weren’t precisely _lovers,_ Azkaban prison hardly being a romantic environment. They were far closer than they should have been otherwise, however. Sharing the experiences they had over the past five years, anyone would have gotten closer to their most constant companion. There was nothing to hide from Sirius, he knew it all.

He’d been there through the beatings, the rapes. Initially humiliated that literally everyone on their cell block knew, Harry had started to retreat in on himself, curling in a ball in the back of his cell. Sirius was having none of it, pushing through the bars as a too-skinny dog and pulling Harry into his arms, holding him stubbornly as he flipped out in response to what he’d been put through. It was inevitable really that they would draw closer over the years, Sirius often spending more time in Harry’s cell than his own, teaching him how to become an Animagus and telling him about his parents, when he asked.

The person he knew least about was the only other one living, Remus Lupin. Pettigrew didn’t count. Sirius’ anger at the person who should have known better about him had grown exponentially over the years, Harry was pretty sure that Sirius _loathed _him now. He knew they’d been lovers when his parents were alive, he knew that Remus was a werewolf bitten by Fenrir Grayback when he was young. He knew for a fact that Sirius’ _rage_ at not being believed by the one person who should have believed him above anyone else was a bitter thing.

In the meantime, Sirius was his constant companion, helping him endure five years of hell. They’d talk quietly late at night about what they wanted to do if they ever left the prison, how they’d like to travel and see more than wizarding Britain. They’d laughed and imagined sunny beaches with warm sand and clear blue water, eating rich food and being lazy all day. Anything to avoid the monotony of dark, damp stone cells with iron bars and icy rain.

Harry’s green eyes flicked when he caught someone coming into his line of sight, tensing on automatic. He forced himself to relax when he noted it was a Healer, smiling in a reassuring manner at him. He snorted and reluctantly lifted his head off Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius reluctantly let him go as he realized the Healer had her sights on Sirius, waiting patiently for them to separate so that Harry wouldn’t interfere with her scans.

“May I have your name, so I can start a file for you? The file will stay here at the Manor under Healer’s confidentiality spells, it won’t be moved until we have you cleared with the Ministry,” the woman reassured.

“Sirius Orion Black,” he replied, voice still a bit hoarse.

“Age and date of birth?”

“36, 12th November, 1960.”

“Height? Hair and eye color?”

“6’1”, Black and grey.”

“Thank you,” she answered. “My name is Claire Flint, I’m Lord Flint’s eldest child. I’ll be checking on both yourself and Mr. Potter here.”

“Thank you, Healer Flint,” Sirius said quietly.

“I am happy to help you both,” she answered reassuringly. “Honestly I was shocked with both of your convictions, I didn’t think either one of you had done what they said. I am glad it brought you back to the Dark however, Heir Lord Black.”

Sirius just gave a quiet snort.

Claire flicked her wand over his head in an intricate pattern, a thin golden band appearing around his head. “Stay still as this moves over your body please. It shouldn’t cause more than a gentle tingling sensation, if it begins to hurt please let me know.”

Sirius gave a nod and then stayed still, both him and Harry watching in interest as Claire summoned a piece of parchment and a quill the same shade of gold as the spell appeared, setting its tip on the parchment. The small band of magic around his head began to move downward in a slow, steady motion, Sirius briefly shutting his eyes as it went over his face, the gold glow was very bright. It continued downwards, widening automatically as it reached his shoulders and arms, tightening again as it passed his waist. As the band moved down, the quill began to write rapidly, zipping back and forth over the parchment faster than the human eye could follow.

The parchment was about four inches longer than it had been at the start when the spell reached the floor and vanished, the quill disappearing as well. Claire reached out and took the parchment, studying it for a long moment.

“Very well, this is becoming something of a pattern today. You are very malnourished, several stone under what would be an acceptable weight for your height. Your bones are a bit brittle and there are some old bruises and broken bones that haven’t healed very well. There are also significant signs of what’s known as the Dementor’s Sickness, we’ll get you started on the potion to counteract that as well as a temporary anti-depressant as it’s a common side effect.”

“I’m going to start you on a potions regimen for the malnourishment as well as a strict diet that you are going to follow to the letter if you want to heal, Heir Lord Black. I’ll also give you two bone strengthening draughts and a dose of Skel-grow for the old breaks, they shouldn’t need to be vanished, they just need a bit of help to heal properly.”

Sirius nodded in resignation, having accepted the fact that he was going to be faced with several potions for a while. He’d been in Azkaban for 16 years; it was to be expected.

“I am also going to lock down your Animagus form for a while.” When Sirius opened his mouth to protest, she continued, “I understand that you were using it as a way to somewhat negate the effects of the Dementors and that’s very clever, animal emotions aren’t as complex as a human’s. However, you were using it as a coping mechanism, now you need to _deal_ with those emotions you were trying to repress.”

Sirius reluctantly closed his mouth, cutting off his argument. Harry knew the older man realized the advice was sound, he just didn’t like the idea of being cut off from his Animagus. Sirius winced when she cast the spell to lock his form, reluctantly slugging down the Skel-Grow and one of the two doses of Bone Strengthening potions she’d prescribed. He rapidly downed two glasses of water afterwards, shuddering at the aftertaste of the potions.

Claire turned to Harry and asked the same opening questions, which Harry readily answered, admitting somewhat wryly that he didn’t have a clue as to how tall he was. Claire flicked her wand and told him 5’9”, which was a pleasant surprise considering how short he’d been for his age when he was imprisoned. His Inheritance must have added a few inches, he knew he wasn’t that tall before.

Harry tolerated the gentle buzzing of the diagnostic spell, keeping his eyes closed. It zinged painfully a couple of times, making him wince. Claire would stop the spell, flick her wand at the parchment again and start it again. Once it was done he opened his eyes, gazing in surprise at the parchment which was about twice it’s starting length. _Huh._

Claire looked surprised as well, her brown eyes widening. She took the parchment in her hands and stared at it for a few moments, fingers tightening on the parchment enough that her knuckles were turning white. She took a deep, steadying breath and looked at him.

“This parchment lists lifetime injuries as well as current maladies in a witch or wizard, Heir Potter. For a 17-year-old, it normally wouldn’t be any longer than the starting length. Heir Lord Black’s was another four inches or so, close to normal for a 36-year-old. The sheer amount of injuries listed here before you even turned eleven should have killed you,” she finished flatly.

“The Muggles Dumbledore left me with said several times that they were trying to ‘stamp it out’,” Harry said dryly, shoulders automatically tensing. He didn’t like talking about the Dursleys. “I realized later they meant my magic. I was told by some of my fellow inmates,” he gestured to the people in the room with him, “that my three or four bursts of accidental magic are unusual. We’ve theorized that it was my magic that was keeping me alive.”

Next to him Sirius had a very dark expression on his face. He knew about the abuse, he’d seen the small scars that littered Harry’s body, especially his back. Harry had no doubt he was planning something _special_ for the Dursley family. Harry let him plot, he didn’t give a second thought for the Dursleys. He’d kill them himself given the chance.

“Aside from the childhood injuries which are going to take several doses of Bone Strengthening, there are more recent breaks, strains and sprains that are going to take Skel-Grow, some of which, like both of your hands, are going to take vanishing the bones first so that they grow back properly. I can’t imagine how you’re using your hands right now; it must be excruciatingly painful. You will also be placed on a potions regimen for malnourishment and a strict diet, yours is likely to go a bit longer than Heir Lord Black’s since we’re combating your childhood as well. You have less signs of the Dementor’s Sickness thanks to your Occlumency shields, we’ll still have you take it for a week or so to make sure you don’t get any lingering effects.”

Harry nodded. Claire seemed to hesitate. Then she spoke, choosing her words carefully. “There are signs of mental tampering on you, Heir Potter. A potion that compels obedience for one, another to block a majority of your magic. Both were shattered quite strongly as of your Inheritance, but there are remnants of them in your system.”

Sirius growled in anger, but honestly Harry wasn’t that surprised. He’d been suspecting something of the sort from Dumbledore, with how much the man had tried manipulating him in just two years. “Will the remnants cause issues, or can they be left alone? It may be beneficial to the Dark Lord’s plans to reveal them later.”

“They won’t cause any issues,” Claire reassured, looking surprised at Harry’s foresight into what would be beneficial to the Dark Lord. After all to her he was just a new member of the Dark, uninitiated at that.

Harry obediently took a small series of potions, downing them with a grimace and then holding out his hands so she could carefully vanish the bones, regrowing them with a dose of Skel-Grow. He wasn’t worried about being vulnerable, the only Death Eater in the room who didn’t like him was Dolohov and he was hardly likely to act when surrounded by Healers and far superior wizards and witches. Besides, he _dared _anyone to try and get past Sirius, weakened or not. The man took protective, possessive behavior to the next degree.

Claire cast an immobilizing spell on his hands and suggested he try to rest; it would be a few hours before his hands were fully repaired. Harry nodded obediently, slipping down into a resting position on one of the beds, facing Sirius. The other man still looked angry at the revelation of potions controlling Harry, growling, “Why aren’t you angrier about the idea of Dumbledore controlling you?”

“I’m furious,” Harry said, voice cold, “but it does me no good to get angry about it now. We were just broken out of Azkaban a few hours ago, neither one of us is in any shape to take on the man who fought Grindelwald. Besides, his days are numbered.”

An ecstatic grin crossed Sirius’ face. “We’re free,” he whispered. He gave a short, rough laugh. “I wonder what the papers are going to say?”

“Something to look forward to in the morning,” Harry said, “along with many other things, I’m sure. All of us are going to need new wands, for one.”

“A wand,” Sirius breathed, curling his fingers. “I haven’t had one in so long,” his voice was longing. “I want mine, but I know it was snapped. Just having one in my hands again, knowing that I am without boundaries… I can’t believe it.”

To Harry, who hadn’t had a wand in five years, Sirius’ words had a mingled reaction. Yes, he missed his holly and phoenix feather wand, but he had learned so much wandless magic over the years he didn’t long for one as badly as Sirius did. He was capable of defending himself without one. Still, it would be nice to have one again.

“I wonder if Dumbledore let them snap my wand,” Harry mused. “I bet not, he seemed very interested in it. Something about the phoenix feather that was in the core. I would bet my last galleon in Gringotts that he held onto it.”

Sirius didn’t seem to be listening, too absorbed in the idea of possessing a wand again. No doubt he was mentally running through the list of people he was going to make pay for various things after getting a wand. Harry had a list that was probably almost equal length, perhaps even with some of the same people. A cruel smile curved his lips. He would enjoy making them pay.

He would enjoy it _greatly._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We introduce the Order of the Phoenix and Harry has a chat with Voldemort.
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter or anything you recognize. I'm just having fun :D

The Order of the Phoenix had been forced for years to meet at the Burrow, residence of the Weasley family. It was a tight, cramped locale with no way to house outside members of the Order, the family occupied every room aside from one, which was leant out to Hermione Granger. A school-friend of Ron Weasley’s and like Ron, a former friend of Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and murderer of Ginevra Weasley, the youngest child and only daughter to the Weasley parents.

Any time Harry Potter’s name was mentioned, even in passing, Molly Weasley’s face went pale and her lips tightened with anger. Her husband was prone to shattering whatever he was holding, his grip becoming forceful. The Dark Lord had returned during Hermione and Ron’s fourth year, his Mark carved threateningly into the dead body of the Triwizard Champion, Cedric Diggory. Voldemort was gloating about his return, with no Harry Potter he thought himself invincible.

The Prophecy was whispered about a few times, the words that seemed to indicate that Harry Potter was their only hope, but Dumbledore had reassured them that there was another option, another possible boy. To say that the Order was skeptical about Neville Longbottom’s abilities was to put it lightly, but they were all helping to train the boy for what he would face. Their only other option was a murderer sentenced to Azkaban for life at twelve, it was unpalatable.

A strained, tired Arthur Weasley sat at his kitchen table, watching his wife putter about their kitchen as she prepared a meal for an Order meeting. Above her protests, her youngest son was a member of the Order now, along with Hermione. They were both seventeen, adults in the eyes of the wizarding world. It had been their choice and they were both proud to join the Order. Percy had joined as well, shocked and angry at the death of his little sister. Their only children to not join the Order were the twins, a fact that still made their mother very angry with them.

Fred and George had flatly refused to join the Order, not even wanting to know anything about what their family was doing. They seemed to be under the impression that Harry Potter had been innocent, that he hadn’t murdered their sister. But what was the alternative response when Harry Potter had emerged from the Chamber of Secrets soaked in ink and blood with an unconscious Ron and Ginevra’s body?

Potter had tried to stutter something about an apparition of some boy named Riddle or some nonsense like that, but it had seemed pretty plain to those who had been in the girl’s bathroom when he’d emerged. He was a Parselmouth, he’d been setting a dangerous Basilisk on students all year and finally lost control of the beast, setting it on an innocent, pureblood Ginny.

Sweet Ginny, Arthur’s hands tightened in anger. His baby girl, only eleven years old. Skittish and shy around her famous crush, Harry Potter. A Gryffindor, like all her siblings, a talented flyer and so very loving. Ginny, who wanted to be a professional Chaser and marry some boy so she could have a family 'like my mum and da’.

Across from Arthur at his table was a tired, worn Remus Lupin. Arthur felt for him, he did. He’d lost his only decent friends to Sirius Black, only for the boy he’d loved as his son to turn out so very _Dark._ Remus Lupin was tired, worn and lost, dredging on in the memory of his only good friends, James, Lily and Peter Pettigrew, who had been viciously destroyed by Black after he’d betrayed James and Lily Potter to their deaths.

Slowly members of the Order filtered into the room, one of the very last was Severus Snape, their spy into the dealings of the Dark Lord, who had been very quiet over the past couple of years. His son Ronald heartily disliked Snape, but Arthur respected his courage. It took a different sort of courage than reckless Gryffindor bravery to confront a mad Dark Lord and keep going back, but it was courage nonetheless.

Nymphadora sat down across from Remus, trying to pull him into a conversation. Her awkward attempts at flirting were a little bit embarrassing to watch, but she meant well and he knew his wife Molly approved of the idea of the young Auror balancing out what Remus had been through in his life. Her mother Andromeda Tonks was a Black by birth, cousin to the traitor Sirius. She heartily disapproved of her daughter joining the Order, refusing to do so herself. But Nymphadora was a half-blood and a former Hufflepuff, she was softer than her pureblood Slytherin mother and she understood what they fought for.

Dumbledore entered last, looking weary. Arthur felt a cold sort of dread worm it’s way into his heart at the man’s expression. He looked so very grave and concerned, it couldn’t mean anything good. Arthur took in a shaky breath and said, “Good evening, Albus, how have you been?”

“Doing well, Arthur,” the man said, trying for cheery. “I always enjoy sending out letters to the first years, we’re heading into a new term at Hogwarts, all the young faces make me happy.”

Severus snorted under his breath, muttering something along the lines of ‘idiots’. Ron glared at him from further down the table, but said nothing, instead reaching for a pastry his mother had put in the middle of the table.

“I do admit I have not very pleasant news to share with you all,” Albus admitted.

Arthur tensed, hands clenching nervously.

“I had hoped that they would delay the _Daily Prophet _release so that I could tell you all before the papers announced it to the community, but I’m afraid I was too late.”

“What is it, Albus?” Molly asked, face going pale as she wrung her hands in her apron.

Albus handed over a rolled copy of the _Prophet_ to Arthur with reluctance, waiting quietly. Arthur unrolled it and froze as he read the headline, shock, and horror flooding his body. _No!_

** _Mass Breakout from Azkaban Prison!_ **

_By Rita Skeeter_

_London- It is this reporter’s solemn duty to announce to you the breakout yesterday night that happened at Azkaban prison. There are over ten fatalities amongst the guards of the prison after You-Know-Who stormed the prison and broke out his most faithful followers, commonly known as **Death Eaters.** Amongst the missing prisoners are **Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Fenrir Grayback, Augustus Rookwood and Antonin Dolohov.**_

_All of the missing prisoners are from the high-security block in the core of the prison. The most concerning to the Ministry are two individuals; **Sirius Black,**_ _convicted of twelve counts of murder as well as the betrayal of James and Lily Potter and **Harry James Potter,** the Boy-Who-Lived, who was convicted of murder at only twelve years old in the death of Ginevra Molly Weasley, the only daughter of the Weasley family, aged eleven._

_Of all the missing prisoners, the most distinctive is Harry Potter, who carries a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead from his previous encounter with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in 1981. If you see someone with a lightning scar on the left side of their forehead, **do not engage.** Contact the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic immediately and bar your residence from entry._

_Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge is aware of the panic this news will cause in the wizarding community. He cautions all to remain on guard, to report strange activities or unusual persons and says that he is considering all options to track down the prisoners, including unleashing a force of the Dementor guards of Azkaban to Kiss the escaped convicts on sight._

Arthur heard a sob from his wife before she whirled around, slamming a frying pan with unnecessary force onto the counter. He passed the article on, watching people’s solemn, somewhat fearful reactions. Remus Lupin paled dramatically, staring down at his hands. Ron growled in fury, muttering under his breath. Severus Snape merely looked resigned.

“While all of these individuals are highly dangerous, we currently have no idea as to their location. Exercise caution as the Ministry says here in the article and do not let rash decisions or revenge cloud your behavior. All of these people are highly dangerous and we need to plan.”

“What are we going to do?” Hermione said nervously.

“At the moment, Miss Granger, I do not know. I do know that Neville will need to go to a secure location, perhaps Hogwarts. Severus, I need you to keep a sharp ear and eye out for the escapees, especially Sirius Black and Harry Potter. Do not risk your cover, but we need to find them before they cause any harm.”

“Of course,” Severus said curtly.

“Dismissed,” Albus said, sounding far wearier than he had in recent years. Fear gripped Arthur’s heart. Who would lead them if Albus eventually passed on? Neville?

Arthur hoped they would end the war quickly and in their favor. He didn’t like their chances if Albus Dumbledore, defeater of Gellert Grindelwald and the only one He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had ever feared passed.

Not at all.

*

Harry strolled through the spacious halls of Malfoy Manor, humming quietly to himself. It had been a week since the Dark Lord had broken them out of Azkaban, a busy week indeed. All the escapees had their strict potions regimen and diets assigned, all their surface injuries as well as untreated broken, strained or sprained limbs healed. They had all grown their hair back using a potion, Harry growing his out to past his shoulder blades after discovering a neat little thing. As a side effect of the increased weight, his hair was far more manageable, falling in gentle waves.

A visit from a specialist optometrist had his eyesight corrected, negating the need for glasses. He was still far too thin and prone to tiring out easily, but he was getting better. For once he didn’t have his constant shadow, Sirius was ‘training’ with Rabastan Lestrange, the two men taking a practice opportunity as an incentive to declare a playful dueling war. Harry was amused, Sirius was so easily distracted. Rabastan was like his mirror image, both feeding off each other until they were devolving into children with a prank war.

Harry wasn’t just strolling through the Manor of his ‘hosts’ for the fun of it, though sometimes he liked to do so, taking petty pleasure out of watching a vein in Draco’s forehead twitch every time he spotted ‘Potter’ walking in his home. He was following the aura that belonged to the Dark Lord, heading unerringly for what he suspected was Lucius Malfoy’s study. He stopped outside the heavy wood door, sending a pulse of his magic into the room to touch the Dark Lord’s, announcing his presence.

He hadn’t been waiting long when the heavy door swung open, revealing Lucius himself. The pureblood stepped to the side with a barely concealed sneer, letting him into the room. Harry strolled into the room as if _he_ owned it, paying not the slightest of attention to Lucius. Instead, he stopped in front of the Dark Lord and gave an elegant dip of his head, waiting.

“Potter,” the man said, sibilant hissing greatly reduced. Harry had the distinct impression that the man’s hissing was exaggerated based on whether he felt his current company would be intimidated by it.

“My Lord,” Harry replied, standing still with ease. He didn’t fidget, twitch, mess with his hands. Nothing to indicate that he was in the slightest anything more than respectful of the man in front of him. He was no simpering coward, nor would he play the part of one for the man’s ego.

“Did you wish to speak with me, Potter?” The man said finally, watching him closely with his dark ruby eyes.

“I did, My Lord. In private, it pertains to the events leading up to my arrest.”

Voldemort studied him for a moment and then said, “Dismissed, Lucius. Our conversation can be resumed later.”

Lucius shot Harry a venomous glare he didn’t like the idea that his conversation was less important to Voldemort than Harry’s.

Harry waited for Lucius to leave the room and shut the door before flicking his fingers at the door, using his _will_ to lock it and erect a powerful silencing spell. Noting the Dark Lord’s narrowed eyes, he bowed a bit and said, “Forgive my presumptions, I have a feeling this conversation is not one you would want to be overheard.”

“You _presume_ a lot, Potter.”

“I am aware. However, this conversation is a bit delicate. You are aware that I was arrested at the age of twelve and sentenced to life in Azkaban for the death of eleven-year-old Ginevra Weasley?”

“I am.”

“I found the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said bluntly, watching as Voldemort tensed. “The basilisk is dead, which I regret, but she refused to listen and stop attacking me, I prefer to be living.”

“How did you find the Chamber?” Voldemort hissed.

“I had some help,” Harry answered mildly. “This is why I wanted to make sure we had the room secured before our conversation. I have destroyed an object that belonged to you. I would rather tell you now willingly than have you find out through some other means and think I concealed the information.”

“What object?”

“A diary,” Harry began, before freezing. The temperature in the room had abruptly dropped, the fire sputtering and dying in the fireplace as the Dark Lord’s magic suddenly expanded in the room, dropping a threatening aura over Harry like a heavy blanket.

“How did you destroy it?!” The Dark Lord’s voice was full of rage and unless Harry was distinctly missing the point, _fear._

“The basilisk bit me as I shoved a sword through its mouth, I only survived thanks to tears from the Phoenix that belongs to Dumbledore. I used the fang that pierced my skin to stab the diary.”

“Where is the diary?” Voldemort demanded, the threatening aura becoming thicker with malicious intent.

“Still in the Chamber. I left it behind, Ginevra’s body was a bit heavy for a twelve-year-old to carry. Dumbledore doesn’t know it exists if he did they wouldn’t have arrested me for murder,” Harry smirked bitterly.

“That diary shouldn’t have been in the school,” Voldemort spat. “It was supposed to be kept safe by Lucius.”

Harry’s brain whirled in thought, then his eyes widened and he chuckled roughly. “Lucius put it in the cauldron of Ginevra Weasley during a brawl with Weasley Senior at Diagon Alley. She had other schoolbooks in a cauldron and the diary was rather small, it would have blended in easily. He likely did it out of cowardice, the Ministry was conducting raids of pureblood households and he didn’t want it found.”

“If that is true than Lucius will pay,” Voldemort spat.

His murderous aura retreated a bit, the fire starting up again and warming the room. Harry risked a deep breath in relief, glad to no longer be drowning in the man’s rage.

“You have no idea what you found and destroyed,” Voldemort mused, “and you told me about it instead of waiting for me to discover it in your mind or through other means. I will be lenient with you, Potter, Lucius will not be so lucky. You have done well coming to me, I am appreciative. You have not investigated what it is you found?” The man’s gaze was sharp, searing.

“No, My Lord,” Harry answered respectfully.

“See that it stays that way and you shall not earn any punishment from me. Some secrets are not meant to be uncovered.”

Harry bowed respectfully and exited the room, bringing down his silencing spells and locking charm. Just outside the door almost was Lucius, looking murderously at Harry. Harry merely arched a brow, watching with private amusement how fast Lucius’ face paled when the Dark Lord said, “Lucius, I wish to _speak_ with you.”

Right at that moment, Harry wouldn’t have traded with Lucius for all the gold in Gringotts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death Eater meeting...
> 
> Note: mild torture, violence
> 
> Note: I am working on other stories, I promise! I had chapters of this one prewritten and wanted to get something out, hoping it will stir my creativity which has been sluggish thanks to work and college classes.

Severus Snape appeared in a dark wood, cursing. He’d been forced to walk the distance from the castle to the outer wards before being able to Apparate, it had made him late, or very close to. With how much the Dark Lord liked to hand out _Crucio_s, he’d be lucky to walk away unharmed tonight. Hurriedly he placed his solid silver mask into place and strode swiftly to the main doors of Malfoy Manor, rolling his eyes at the white peacocks strutting around.

As a member of the Dark Lord’s Inner Circle, his long black robes were made of silk and trimmed in a fine thread made with real gold. His mask was also more ornate, featuring an intricate pattern of runes that passed over the eye-holes in an elaborate Celtic knot. Each of the Inner Circle’s masks was slightly different, Bellatrix Lestrange’s featured a delicate pattern of roses for example.

As he made his way past the other members of the Inner Circle, he wasn’t surprised to see Bellatrix Lestrange with the said mask in place, nor the other designs that had been missing for several years. The escapees from Azkaban were here for the meeting, generating a source of exciting Dark energy at their presence.

Severus ignored them for the moment, dropping gracefully to a knee in front of Voldemort, keeping his eyes down and shoving all of his desires to kill this man for the death of Lily Evans to the back of his mind. His Occlumency shields were some of the finest amongst living wizards, but if Voldemort even for a _second_ thought he was Occluding, he was done. The Dark Lord was aware that he had a traitor in his ranks, he just didn’t know _who._

“You took your time getting here, Severus,” Voldemort hissed, his aura leaking malevolence.

“I apologize, My Lord,” Severus answered respectfully. “Dumbledore refuses to manipulate the wards to allow for Apparition, I hurried as soon as I felt the summons.”

“_Crucio,”_ the man said, almost lazily.

Pain exploded in Severus’ nerves, but he refused to scream. As soon as the spell was lifted, he shakily resumed his kneeling position. He gritted his teeth when his limbs wouldn’t behave at first, ignoring the appreciative sniggers from some of the Inner Circle who didn’t like him.

“I don’t want to hear excuses, Severus. Improve your arrivals, a portkey perhaps? I don’t care. I will not tolerate your truancies any longer.”

Severus bowed respectfully and stood, stepping back to join the ring of Inner Circle members that stood around the Dark Lord. A quick flick of dark eyes revealed his ‘companions’ to be Lucius Malfoy and Augustus Rookwood, his mask covered in an intricate series of runes that hardly left a section of the silver surface untouched. Formerly an Unspeakable with the Department of Mysteries research division, Severus wouldn’t be surprised if the former Ravenclaw hadn’t added a few runes to the mask himself.

“We are here for an auspicious occasion indeed, my friends. We are Initiating two new members to our ranks, but these two will not be _just_ Death Eaters, my followers. They will be your compatriots in all ways, members of my Inner Circle.”

Mutters issued from around the room in surprise, the only ones who didn’t look surprised were the escapees. They looked delighted. Bellatrix, in particular, was practically dancing in place, a pleased laugh escaping her lips.

“First to join us, a pureblood from an auspicious family, one of the oldest amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” Voldemort smirked.

Strolling into the light gracefully from just beyond Lucius where an empty spot remained in the ring was _Sirius Black._ Severus’ hands clenched into fists of anger, staring in disbelief at the pureblood who had made his school-life hell along with his friend James Potter. His presence brought a confusing thought to light; Black _hadn’t_ been a Death Eater when he betrayed Lily?

Grey eyes darker than Lucius’ blue-grey remained cool, emotionless. He stopped a few feet from the Dark Lord, dropping gracefully to one knee without using his hands to balance himself. He looked surprisingly healthy and _sane_ for having spent 16 years in Azkaban prison’s highest security cells. His behavior was so unlike the impulsive Gryffindor the man had been it was nearly making Severus nervous.

“You, Sirius Orion Black, come here to join my cause of your own free will?”

“Yes,” Black said steadily, voice rasping a bit.

“You swear loyalty and obedience to my orders, no matter what they may be?”

“Yes.”

“You swear loyalty and confidence in the Dark, to and before the Goddess of Magic?”

“Yes.”

Voldemort stood, approaching the kneeling wizard. Black didn’t move, even when a pale hand reached out and grabbed his arm. He remained steadily balanced as the pale yew wand was pressed against his skin and Voldemort hissed, “_Morsemorde.”_

Severus admitted a grudging respect for Black, the man didn’t even flinch at the pain of having the Dark Mark forcefully engraved into his skin, the Mark taking on the golden edging unique to the Inner Circle. It had a built-in glamour, hiding the gold edging from those who weren’t in the know about the difference.

“Welcome to the Dark, Sirius Black.”

Black stood, remaining quiet and steady in front of Voldemort. He accepted the black silk outer robe identical to Severus’ and a silver mask, carved in a delicate replica of the constellation of Orion. He backed up, taking the spot directly to Lucius’ right, leaving one other place.

An enormously cold, victorious grin spread across Voldemort’s face. Practically purring, he said, “Welcome now, last but certainly not least, the one they once prophesied would be my defeat. Once my greatest enemy, now my greatest ally and a secret weapon. Welcome, my friends, Harry James Potter.”

The hisses of shocked surprise that started up acted as excellent cover for Severus, who froze in stunned shock. _What?_

At the sight of Harry Potter, he stared, unable to comprehend. The last time he’d seen the brat he was twelve-years-old, a skinny little boy with messy dark hair and his mother’s green eyes hidden behind hideous glasses.

The glasses were now gone, the boy a young man who moved with the grace of a dancer, or a hunting cat. The unruly short hair was now glossy and dark, falling in waves to past his shoulder blades in a neat, unfussy plait. His eyes were verdant and dark, even darker than they had been, his skin pale and practically glowing. There was a small, cold smile on his face as he listened to the hisses around him.

He strolled quietly up to the Dark Lord, kneeling as easily as Black had. Severus listened in a stunned sort of disbelief, angry beyond comprehension that Potter was joining the very man who had murdered his parents, his _mother._

“You, Harry James Potter, come here to join my cause of your own free will?”

“Yes,” Potter’s voice was soft, firm. It had matured as well over the years, developing a melodic quality and a soft tenor range.

“You swear loyalty to the Dark, support to my cause, obedience to the Goddess of Magic?”

“Yes.”

“You swear now, on your magic, that you have turned your back on those who have turned their backs on you?”

“Yes,” Potter’s voice was nearly a snarl.

There was an incredibly triumphant look on Voldemort’s face as he lazily stated, “_Morsemorde.”_

Potter didn’t so much as twitch to indicate discomfort as the Mark appeared, instead steadily meeting Voldemort’s gaze. He stood, his 5’9”, delicate frame dwarfed by the Dark Lord. And yet he met the crimson gaze with unflinching ease, accepting his robe and a mask, different from the rest. It was only a half-mask, covering his eyes and forehead. The carved runes took the form of a massive snake in an eternity band that wrapped over both eyes, accented at both temples with tiny emeralds.

He joined Black, standing between him and a quiet Bartimus Crouch Jr., who had managed to escape Hogwarts before Dumbledore had realized he was impersonating Alastor Moody for an entire year. Severus was exceptionally rattled and _angry_ at Harry Potter. The boy had joined the very man who had murdered his mother, who fought for pureblood idealism. He had joined a cause that looked down on him for his blood of all things.

Voldemort remained standing, looking very pleased. “We are complete, my friends,” he announced, raising his arms. “We will begin our move against Dumbledore and his pathetic Order soon, but first, a warning.”

He was still smiling, which made the rising aura of sheer _Darkness_ even more intimidating. His smile became sharp, predatory. “I _know_ there is a traitor in my ranks, the unknown factor is _who._ If I hear from any outside source that Sirius Black or Harry Potter are suspected Death Eaters, I will _know_ it came from my Inner Circle since none of my other forces have been told. There are plans in place which depend upon the element of surprise with these two. My _correction_ will be swift upon the man or woman idiotic enough to betray me.”

Several of the Inner Circle rustled nervously, no one spoke, however.

“Finally, a gift. Black, you have spent 16 years in Azkaban prison for a crime you did not commit. The one who was responsible ran, like the cowardly little rodent he is. Even though he _did_ help me regain a corporeal body, I have two infinitely superior replacements. So, for you,” Voldemort flicked his wand, floating forward a figure bound in magical ropes and wearing a black hood. He settled the figure in the middle of the circle and removed the hood.

Shivering in the middle of the circle, looking upon Sirius Black’s viciously smiling face with sheer terror on his own was _Pettigrew._ Severus stared at the somewhat corpulent wizard, shaking uncontrollably at the expression on Black’s face. He was supposed to be _dead,_ having confronted Black after the man betrayed the Potters and getting blown up for his troubles, leaving behind only a finger. Looking to his hands, Severus noted the missing finger. _What happened?_

“Hello, _Peter,_” Black’s voice was nearly a growl. “Surprised to see me?”

Bellatrix gave a small giggle of pure delight at the stuttering terror obvious on Pettigrew’s face.

His voice was high, pitchy, “My Lord, I don’t understand… I gave you the Potters, I stayed undetected. I gave you back your body...”

“You _gave_ me nothing, Peter,” Voldemort said idly, “you simply squealed like the little traitor you are, seeking favor. And while your clumsy efforts did assist me in regaining a body, I have two far superior replacements for your less than satisfactory self. Or do you not recognize Black’s companion?”

Pettigrew’s beady eyes searched out the face of Harry Potter, eyes landing with petrified comprehension on the famous scar. “H-harry,” he stuttered. “How g-good to see you.”

Potter’s magic lashed out with a violent _snap,_ Pettigrew screaming in agony when the magic broke his lower arm. Blood spurted profusely from the wound as the jagged bone tore through his flesh near the elbow. Staring in white-faced agony at the teenager, he whimpered pitifully. “Y-your parents would have shown me mercy, Harry.”

“Thanks to you,” Black said, voice cold and harsh, “he wouldn’t know that, would he? You know,” he cocked his head to the side, contemplating Peter for a moment. “I’ve never cast this spell before, but as I understand it, all you need is a bit of hate, and I think I have _that.”_

He raised his wand, pointed it at Pettigrew and snarled, “_Crucio!”_

Pettigrew’s immediate screams of sheer agony weren’t faked, nor was the way his body contorted violently, aggravating the broken bone and the pierced skin. The look of _satisfaction_ on Black’s face was frightening, his dark grey eyes were nearly black. He left the spell on Pettigrew for several minutes, clearly enjoying the piercing screams.

When Black finally ceased the spell, Pettigrew was shaking and whimpering, curled in a ball on the floor. Black looked at Voldemort and said lazily, “My Lord, do you need him for anything whatsoever?”

“I do not,” Voldemort confirmed with a cold smile.

A vicious grin crossed Black’s face. “Then I think I will finally commit the murder I’ve spent sixteen years in prison for.”

Pettigrew’s already ashen face paled even further, his lips parting in a whimpering stutter, “S-Sirius, I’m sorry. Please old friend, let me go?”

“I don’t think so,” Black’s voice was cold. “As much as I’d like to leave you in the hellhole I spent almost half my life in, I think this is equally satisfying. Goodbye, _Wormtail._”

He raised his wand again and Severus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the expression on his face. A cruel smile curled his handsome features into something almost demonic as he snapped his wand and snarled, “_Avada Kedavra!”_

The acid-green light of the Killing Curse struck Pettigrew squarely in his petrified face, a last screaming plea cut off mid-word, his body falling in a lifeless heap on the floor.

“Rosier, McNair,” Voldemort said, a rather satisfied smile on his lips, “take the little scum’s body and make sure it’s found by the Ministry. Expose his Mark, it suits me for people to begin doubting our new friend’s guilt.”

The two men bowed, grabbed the dead body and hauled it out of the room. Voldemort looked around the room and said coldly, “Dismissed. Black and Potter, please remain.”

Severus began the long trek to the ends of the wards on Malfoy Manor, trying not to feel like there was a target painted on his back. He shuddered. What were they going to do, now that the primary target of the Prophecy was fighting _for_ the Dark Lord?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigh... college classes were a bit more tiring than I thought, plus suddenly being 'essential'. My writing dropped off badly, I apologize for that. I am working on chapters for everything, we still haven't hit the end of what I had pre-written for Shatter, which is why this is getting another update. I'm sorry this is taking so long...
> 
> Note A: When I chose to write a story based around a cliche, I try and make it unique aside from the basic summary, so you won't see a lot of the same actions regarding certain things i.e. Chamber of Secrets, inheritances, time travel.  
Note B: There is one cliche that comes up in this one, some unusual 'borrowing'. However the amounts taken are not in the millions, nor is Sirius Black worth 1 trillion galleons or something crazy like that. I tried to make the numbers reasonable.  
Note C: I know J.K. said that Hogwarts is likely free for students, but I'm assuming there is some sort of scholarship given because of the cost of housing, feeding and educating ~300 students plus staff.

Harry and Sirius apparated into Diagon Alley two mornings after their Initiation, strolling casually down the main street under complex glamour spells. Their wands were in holsters on their sleeves, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. They were both a bit tense, Sirius more so than Harry as it had been sixteen years since he was out amongst wizarding society.

Sirius’ lips curved in a small smile. He had not been expecting Voldemort to hand over Pettigrew, it was both a gift and a warning. He’d known that Sirius was imprisoned for Pettigrew’s crimes, Peter had been a peace offering. He had also been a more than apt warning; no one was irreplaceable to the Dark Lord. Sirius had accepted both the gift and the warning readily; he had no compunctions about the man he now served. It had been worth it just to see the look on the little coward’s face.

Initially, after the high had worn off, he had worried about how easily he had killed Peter. He’d never shown any desire to learn about the Dark Arts, sitting down for theoretical lessons from his family with reluctance. Yet it had been so _easy_ to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Peter and nothing yet in his life had matched the adrenaline rush that came from casting the Killing Curse, seeing the realization in Peter’s beady eyes. His fingers itched to wrap around his wand as a pair of Aurors approached them on the street, Sirius exercising control and doing nothing.

The pair strolled by and he let out a breath, watching as Harry’s slightly tense shoulders relaxed. Only seventeen and forced to watch his back for most of his life thanks to _Dumbledore_ and his ‘friends’. It was so _easy_ to be angry if he thought about Harry’s life so far. They reached their destination, Gringotts, without further issues, striding up the marble stairs and past the guard without a second glance.

Sirius took the lead, walking up to a goblin and saying lazily, “I wish to see the managers in charge of my accounts.”

He pricked his finger on a sharp dagger when asked and smeared it on a piece of parchment, watching as the words _Sirius Orion Black III _formed. When the goblin stared at him he merely arched a brow, waiting. Casually he flicked his wrist as if to look at a watch, the handle of his wand dropping into his hand in warning. Close to him, Harry did the same thing, releasing the handle on one of a pair of very sharp daggers the teen carried.

“This way,” the goblin finally said, getting down from his podium and walking off to their left, where the Gringotts offices were.

Sirius followed, strides steady and relaxed. He walked into the open door the goblin stood next to, walking over to sit lazily in an armchair in front of the large mahogany desk that dominated the room. He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, the very picture of ease. His wand handle was in easy reach of his hand, but the goblins didn’t need to know that.

Harry strolled in, taking the seat next to Sirius. Unlike the older man, he casually withdrew one of his daggers and began playing with it, twirling it in his fingers in an intricate dance. Another goblin walked in, eyeing Harry for a moment with visible wariness. Harry looked up and blinked in noticeable surprise.

“Greetings, Griphook,” he said casually, putting the dagger away. “It has been some time since I’ve seen you.”

The goblin’s black eyes widened in surprise. “I am not certain I have seen you in here before, sir, but that is my name.”

Harry flicked his fingers, bringing down his glamour. Griphook’s eyes widened further and he said, “Mr. Potter, a pleasure. I am impressed you remembered my name; it has been years since you have seen me. Most wizards hardly notice non-humans.”

“I am not most wizards, then,” Harry commented.

Sirius dropped his glamour with a sigh, looking at Harry in mild exasperation. They were both escaped convicts, he could use a little more caution. Until that moment, they couldn’t have been sure that the goblins weren’t going to turn them in.

Looking at Griphook he said, “I take it by your lack of concern to the fact that we are escaped fugitives from Azkaban that you are not going to turn us over to the authorities?”

“The Goblin Nation reserves the right to serve whom we will amongst the wizarding kind, Heir Black. We keep our council on who is dangerous and who is not. While both of you are dangerous wizards, you are not to us. So how can I help you today, gentlemen?”

Sirius smirked. “Both of us need to take discreet control of our accounts, locking out any who may be taking advantage. We both have titles as well, which we will be assuming today. Finally, we will need current statements and a way to access our accounts without needing to come to the bank.”

“Very well,” the goblin said in his gravelly voice, “that is easy enough to do. I know you already verified your identity with the clerk, but you will need to do so again. A security precaution, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” Sirius smiled, showing a _bit_ too many teeth to be friendly, taking the ornamental dagger Griphook produced and making a small slice on his finger. He pressed his finger to the parchment the goblin proffered and then removed his finger, Harry idly flicking his hand at Sirius and healing the cut with ease.

Sirius did not miss the look of wary, shocked respect that Griphook shot Harry at the casual use of wandless magic. He inwardly smirked. Wandless magic was difficult to master and only a few used it regularly, Harry’s dismissive ease at using it would shock many. He was a powerful wizard in his own right, it didn’t matter that most of his ‘education’ had been from convicted Death Eaters inside Azkaban.

The parchment once again formed the words _Sirius Orion Black III,_ going on to list him as _Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black_ and in possession of two vaults with a monetary value of 249,856G. Nice. It was satisfying to see that even his late, unlamented mother’s reckless spending couldn’t damage the family accounts that badly.

He signed a few papers with a blood quill and _voila,_ he was Lord Black and in full control of his vaults. The Lordship ring for the Black family was silver with a large onyx stone surrounded by tiny princess-cut diamonds and a fancy scripted letter B engraved into the stone.

Griphook produced statements, handing them over. “The only person that has been drawing anything from your accounts is one R.J. Lupin, last listed as a beneficiary. His withdrawals over the last sixteen years total 2540G.”

Sirius froze, an angry snarl curling his lips. The amount was insignificant, the _person,_ however, was. He’d forgotten the fact that he’d listed Remus as a beneficiary to his accounts. That had been back when they were dating and he’d thought that Remus loved and trusted him.

“Stop those withdrawals,” Sirius snapped, “and remove his access to the accounts. If he tries to draw anything else out after being informed, arrest him.”

Griphook inclined his head, “It will be done. Your accounts have been linked to your Lordship ring if you have further need of Gringotts or need to authorize a transaction, use the ring to seal the sale voucher.”

Sirius sat back, seething. The mentioning of Remus Lupin brought back his bad mood and things he preferred not to think about at the moment. Instead, he watched as Harry casually leaned forward, taking the dagger and drawing it easily across his thumb. He swiped it across a piece of parchment and sat back, healing his finger.

_Harrison James Potter, Heir to the Noble House of Potter,_ two vault numbers and a total of 127,459G scrawled across the paper. Harry arched a brow. “As far as I was ever made aware, I had one vault and a little over fifty thousand in it.”

“The second was created in your name by Gringotts, several families over the years have Willed you what was left of their accounts when they died and had no descendants.”

Harry made a humming noise under his breath, signing the parchments necessary to declare him Lord of House Potter and taking his signet, yellow gold with a large garnet, a letter ‘P’ engraved in gold on the gem. Harry snorted in some disdain at the colors, Sirius didn’t comment. He knew how much the teen regarded Gryffindor and their colors after they had shown their fickle friendship and loyalty over his two years at Hogwarts.

“I have linked your accounts to your ring the same manner as Lord Black’s,” Griphook told Harry. “You have several more transactions over the past several years. Ones made by Molly Weasley total a little over 25,000G and a few made by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore in the name of an ‘Order of the Phoenix’ totaling 25,000G.”

Harry stiffened, Sirius subconsciously echoing it in his anger. Dumbledore was using Harry’s money to fund his little vigilante group?! And what would Molly Weasley need that much for?

Harry suddenly gave a dangerous smile. “Tell me, Griphook,” he practically purred, “how much does it cost for a student to attend Hogwarts for say, seven years?”

“Approximately 9,200G per child,” Griphook replied.

Harry smirked. “It seems I’ve paid for both Ronald and another Weasley child’s educations. How nice of me, especially since I didn’t know about it. Stop both from accessing my accounts, for that matter stop all authorizations except for Sirius Orion Black if he’s listed. Feel free to send both of them notices from Gringotts for fraud, I’d enjoy watching their faces if you were to demand the money back on behalf of the Goblin Nation.”

Griphook smirked back. It was not a pleasant expression. “I will take your ideas back to our bank managers. Is there anything else I can do for you gentlemen today?”

“Not today I think,” Sirius said, standing casually. “We thank you for your time, Griphook. May the rest of your day be profitable.”

“And yours, my Lords.”

Sirius smirked. _Not quite._ But he appreciated the irony of being addressed as such. They replaced their glamours and exited the bank, strolling down the Alley. Sirius flicked a sideways glance at Harry and said, “I take it you’re plotting something to do with the Weasley’s withdrawals?”

“Not yet,” Harry answered, a nasty smirk crossing his face. “But it’s a nice thing to be able to hold over their heads. After all, I can withdraw my funding for Ronald’s final year. Not to mention demand repayment or the seizing of the graduate certificate for whoever else my money paid for. If not for the fact that she’s dead, I would have guessed little Ginny.”

“Perhaps I’ll be able to sneak a look at student records,” Sirius replied.

Harry gave a rather feral grin in response. After their Initiation, Voldemort had spoken to them both. Their first orders from their Lord were to infiltrate Hogwarts School, Harry as a transfer student in his seventh-year, Sirius as a co-Professor because _somehow_ Dumbledore had convinced the Board to allow a werewolf to teach; as long as there was a co-Professor who would handle classes for the two days prior, the day of and two days after the full moons.

“You’ll be able to control yourself? I know how much you want him to pay for betraying you?” Harry said quietly, a glint of anger in his own eyes.

“I will have exquisite control, I assure you. Perhaps I will spend my time planning how I will _repay_ Lupin for his loyalty once I can,” Sirius bared his teeth in a rather aggressive smile.

The pair Apparated, leaving Diagon Alley behind. If they were going to infiltrate Hogwarts, they needed to do some _shopping._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get another chapter, showing some of Dumbledore's thought process (or lack thereof). Also, Sirius and Harry enter Hogwarts and it's not as difficult as others thought it may be :D
> 
> Note: for now I've removed the tag 'possible Sirius/Harry/Other' because at this point in time I'm thinking I'm not going to turn this into a trio. We'll see.

Albus Dumbledore exited his Pensieve and moved to his chair in the Headmaster’s office. He reached out a shaky hand and took a lemon drop, popping the candy into his mouth and savoring the tart bite of his favorite sweet. He was severely rattled and trying not to show it. If he didn’t know Severus as well as he did, he would have thought the spy was giving him an elaborate fake memory. While Severus would be capable of doing such a thing, he knew better than to try one on the Headmaster.

Both Sirius Black _and_ Harry Potter were now Death Eaters. Not only Death Eaters but Inner Circle, amongst Voldemort’s most trusted! Not that he trusted any of his Death Eaters, not truly, but just the idea… Dumbledore shuddered. Of all the things he could have hoped for when Voldemort broke his faithful out of Azkaban, Harry Potter joining him was not one of them. He didn’t understand! Voldemort had been obsessed with the Prophecy before when its targets were mere babes. Now that they were both fully grown, he should have just murdered the boy there in the prison, not break him out. Certainly not adding him into his Inner Circle!

Sirius Black was worrying all on his own. Of _course,_ he’d realized Black was innocent, but it suited him to send the reckless pureblood to Azkaban. Black was Harry Potter’s godfather, but it wouldn’t have suited to have the Boy-Who-Lived, icon of the Light, raised by a Dark pureblood. That and he would have been spoiled rotten by Black and Lupin, a werewolf of all things. No, better for him to be isolated in the Muggle world away from all the fame and glory with a perfectly normal set of Muggles.

It had worked splendidly, too. The boy had come to Hogwarts the spitting image of his father with his mother’s eyes. Sure he’d been neglected a bit but it only furthered his wonder and gratitude to the magical world for ‘rescuing’ him. He’d been fairly obedient too, testing wonderfully with the Mirror of Erised and the tasks set before him and his two sidekicks. Dumbledore couldn’t have picked two better choices for Harry Potter’s friends, a Muggleborn girl and a pureblood from a disgraced family that adored the Light and himself.

Then somehow it had gone wrong. The boy had emerged from the fabled Chamber of Secrets with a dead Ginny Weasley in his arms, covered in ink and blood. The Ministry officials Dumbledore had escorted to the school to destroy the basilisk he realized dwelt below had immediately arrested the pre-teen, who had been sputtering something about ‘Riddle’. Dumbledore knew the boy must have been lying, sure Riddle had been Voldemort’s name before he took his title, but the boy didn’t know that and Voldemort hadn’t been near the school since Potter’s first term, Dumbledore would have known it.

He'd known about Quirrell after all. There was no way Quirinius Quirrell would have been capable of all that he’d done throughout Harry Potter’s first year without help, he could feel Voldemort’s presence on the man. He hadn’t intervened, curious about what the shade of the Dark Lord would do. It would have been catastrophic if he’d gotten hold of the Stone, but Harry Potter had done his job magnificently, showing even at eleven the self-sacrificing tendency that would be necessary to destroy the Dark Lord.

The pre-teen had been sentenced to Azkaban for life in medium security at age twelve, Cornelius informed Albus afterward he had no intentions of leaving Potter in medium security, he was a risk to the population. He’d been put in a black cell in high security instead, in the highest part of the prison. Albus had turned with little hope and much resignation to his second choice, Neville Longbottom. The boy was _average _at best, showing far more interest in plants than anything else. His hopes of defeating Tom were low at best.

“This is the worst news we could get at this time,” Albus said heavily.

“I can’t believe the boy would join the man who killed Lily,” Severus fumed.

Albus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The prophecy and Severus’ inability to let go of a childhood crush had delivered a ready-made spy into his hands, he knew he should be more grateful. But the man’s obsession with a dead woman had gotten old years ago, not to mention it was a little creepy. Seriously, the woman had chosen a handsome pureblood Heir over a greasy half-blood wannabe, what chance did Severus think he had in the first place?

“We may never know why people make the choices they do, we can only guess,” Albus said solemnly. “We need to inform the Order; this is going to shock them all quite badly. Pettigrew’s presence indicates Black may have been innocent in the first place if so, we wronged him quite badly.”

Severus sneered. “We weren’t that wrong, he cast two of the three Unforgivables correctly on his first try.”

“Still, he possibly was innocent of his original crime,” Dumbledore said, hiding irritation at the old grudge, “in which case a great deal of his anger is undoubtedly justified. Remus will need to be warned, especially since he is teaching this year. Sirius may try to contact him.”

“I can’t believe you got the Board to accept a werewolf of all things as the Defense instructor for the next term,” Severus said with biting anger, “you know I’ve desired the post for years, instead you put in the very creature we’re supposed to defend students against!”

“You know that the curse holds against the post despite my best efforts,” Dumbledore said sharply. “I am tired of hearing the same old thing from you every year, Severus. I cannot risk you being either removed from the school or killed due to it, Remus Lupin is at least a bit more expendable. There are provisions in place, he has a co-Professor who will be helping on the two days prior, the day of and two days after the full moons and he’s to be isolated in his quarters during the entire period.”

Severus huffed. “Well, hopefully, this Professor has something of a head on his shoulders, if Lucius Malfoy gets hold of the Board Lupin will be drummed out before he even unpacks his things.”

“His Co-Professor’s name is Rigel Zrada, he seems very competent from the papers the Ministry has sent me on him. He attended Durmstrang Institute several years ago, after Igor Karkaroff. He’s described as very clever and good at both Transfiguration and Defense,” Dumbledore said impatiently.

“Zrada?”

“His father’s family was foreign but his mother was from a small Welsh family,” Dumbledore said dismissively.

“Hmm… Pureblood?” Severus asked.

“He is, I don’t know what his inclinations are towards purebloods and their mindset is, I haven’t met him yet.”

Severus snorted. “We shall see. Is there anything else you require from me? I need to go and work on some of my potions for the Hospital Wing’s stock.”

“No,” Dumbledore said, “not at this time. Do please try to curtail some of your dour behavior this year? I grow tired of having to intervene with the Board of School Governors every term on your behalf.”

Severus replied shortly, “No promises,” and whirled around, stalking out the door.

Albus sighed in resignation and sat back. It had been worth a try. Now the only one in his office, he sat in his chair and tried not to think too hard about the news Severus had brought him. It wasn’t working as well as he thought it would. Popping another lemon drop in his mouth, he reached for some of his papers. Every year the stack seemed to get larger of things to do…

*

Harry smirked as he entered Platform 9¾ for only the third time in his life. Underneath a complex glamor that was a mix of Parselmagic and runes etched into the medallion he wore around his neck, there was no way anyone on the platform would equate him with ‘Harry Potter’. No, for the foreseeable future he was Seth Griffin, taking dry amusement out of his name. The beauty of it was that it was so obvious no one would think it was anything but a coincidence.

His black hair was short and sleek, cropped close to his skull. His eyes were dark blue, almost purple. His skin pale as alabaster, standing out starkly against his dark hair and robes. He refused to alter his height, remaining 5’9” and lithe, almost androgynous. He was already gaining curious, somewhat lustful looks from the other students and a stray adult or two, which appealed to his vanity. He refused to look plebian, even for a disguise.

The Malfoys had escorted him to the platform, walking away quickly from a boy who was a half-blood, son of a foreign wizard and his Muggleborn bride, who had died in childbirth, poor dear. His foreign father had educated him in private, keeping his lackluster son out of sight. Seth was only now attending a school with other young witches and wizards because his father had gotten himself killed in a duel in Austria.

Or at least that was his cover story. Lazily Harry flicked his wand and levitated his trunk, boarding the Express. He moved to the back of the train and entered an empty compartment, taking a book on Ancient Runes out of his trunk before levitating it to the upper rack. His black leather trunk was trimmed in silver with SG monogrammed in silver on the lid and each end. It was a three-compartment trunk, fairly pricey but well within his means, as was his complete wardrobe and extensive book collection.

He flicked his fingers casually at the door to his compartment, locking and silencing it with a small grin. One would have to have looked beyond the Hogwarts-approved curriculum for the counters to those spells. Privacy assured, he rested with his legs up on the seat and stared out the window, wondering what Sirius’ disguise looked like. He’d had to leave early this morning so he hadn’t seen the man, his reaction would be genuine anyway. Not that it mattered, their Lordship rings prevented anyone from prying into their minds and Harry’s defenses would make any attempt both obvious and very painful for the offender.

He was _hoping_ Snape would attempt to get into his head, he really was. The more public the better. Harry chuckled darkly, both he and Sirius were convinced that Snape was the traitor, now they just needed to _prove _it. Along with figuring out a way to get to Lupin, this was the best way for the two men to occupy their time and keep themselves from doing anything too obvious. Harry felt for Sirius, he really did.

Having to work with that meek, traitorous _coward._ Honestly, for a werewolf bitten by Fenrir Grayback and at one point being said wolf’s heir, Lupin had an astonishing lack of _spine._ He had never once tried to stand up for Sirius while he was in prison for sixteen years, never once visited or even attempted to. He just bent his head to Dumbledore’s words like a tame _dog_ and took Sirius’ money when needed. Harry smiled coldly; glad the compartment was empty. He knew his expression would be alarming. Lupin was so _terrified _of his wolf, or so Sirius said. Harry would make sure that his punishment and death involved it in some way.

Darkness fell and he set his book aside, stretching languidly. He stood and dressed in his school uniform of black cotton slacks, a white long-sleeved button-up silk shirt, and a black silk robe, all of his clothes absent any school colors. He became thankful for his foresight of dressing one piece at a time when, as he was buttoning his shirt, the compartment door came open violently. His wand dropped instantly into his hand and he was ready to defend himself, only to freeze.

Bushy brown hair, judgmental brown eyes, a Head Girl’s badge pinned to her chest, Hermione Granger stared irritably at him. Next to her, red hair and freckled as ever with a small scowl on his face was Ronald Weasley. Harry became aware of a ringing in his ears and a rising sense of _rage_. He had not expected to be confronted with his fickle _friends_ just yet, he had prepared himself to see them at the school, but here, now, the desire to make them _hurt_ was very strong.

“You should know after six years at this school that it’s against the rules to lock compartments, especially with those kinds of spells,” Hermione frowned, only to stare at him a bit closer. “Who are you, I don’t remember you? And where are your house colors?”

“I don’t know who _you_ are, either, Miss,” Harry said, pointedly putting down his wand. “I had locked the compartment to change.” He raised his fingers to the undone buttons at his chest, making the girl blush and look away.

“I’m Hermione Granger, Head Girl and a Gryffindor. You haven’t answered my questions, however. Who are _you_ and where are your house colors?”

“I don’t have house colors yet, Miss Granger. I’m a seventh-year transfer from home education. My name is Seth, Seth Griffin.”

She frowned. “Hogwarts hasn’t accepted transfer students in the last sixty years.”

“If you are protesting, take it up with your Headmaster, not with me,” Harry said coolly. “For now, I would like an apology and to be left alone.”

“Why would she need to apologize to you?” Ron sneered at him.

“Head Girl or no, she barged into my compartment without even asking, I could have been nude in here. More than that, I expect a seventh-year girl to have manners, not lecture me on school policies before I’ve even been introduced,” Harry replied evenly, slipping into his robe and picking up his wand again.

“I apologize,” she said huffily, cheeks a bit red. Then she whirled around and walked away, followed by Ron after the latter glared at Harry.

Harry let out a deep breath, setting down his wand and rolling his shoulders to release the sudden tension. That had _not_ been the way he wanted to start the evening.

*

Sirius Black, or rather Professor Rigel Zrada, sat at the Head Table, concealing a smirk with effort. So much for being one of the most secure places in wizarding Britain, he’d walked through the front doors! The irony of it made him want to laugh, especially as his face was plastered over the sides of buildings in Hogsmeade and the gates of Hogwarts along with Harry and the rest of the escapees. He sat back casually, surveying the long school tables, just starting to fill with students.

Several of them were staring at him with undisguised curiosity and he withheld a grin, knowing his disguise was rather striking. His hair was almost pure white, cut to just above his earlobes with jagged, off-centered fringe that fell across his left eye. His eyes were a very pale blue, his skin fairly tanned. Wearing fine silk robes over a white silk shirt and black cotton trousers, he was a sight indeed.

Two seats down from him on his right was Lupin, but he was doing his best to ignore the wolf. He was quite thankful for the Arithmancy professor’s presence, he didn’t know if he’d have gone the entire night without giving himself away otherwise. Dumbledore sat in the obnoxious gold chair in the center, giving him slight frowning, scandalized looks. He’d made it clear he agreed with a great deal of pureblood policies and beliefs, not wanting to get dragged into the Order. Conveniently it also gave him a reason for his cold, stand-off behavior with Remus Lupin, since all the staff knew he was a werewolf.

He was also getting looks of sneering disbelief from Severus Snape, not that he cared one bit about that. Soon he and Harry would prove to their Lord that Severus was a traitor and the greasy little git would die. When that day came Sirius would laugh in his face, Severus had always thought himself so clever, so important. He’d been fawned over by Slughorn, protected by Malfoy. Sirius would be only too happy to show him what his true worth was.

He and Harry had been blatantly advertising who they were with their names, it was too ironic that no one had yet to put it together. The Dark Lord’s Inner Circle had always believed it would be difficult to infiltrate the school, it was laughable how easy it had been. Seth Griffin, seventh-year transfer. The Egyptian god of chaos and a blatant nod at his former house. Rigel Zrada; Sirius snorted. Rigel was the star that formed the left foot of the constellation Orion, his father’s name. Zrada was Czech for ‘betrayal’.

Sirius watched with interest as the majority of the Gryffindor table began to fill, searching his old house for a few people in particular. His gaze easily picked out the boy that was supposed to ‘replace’ Harry as the Prophecy Child, Neville Longbottom. He was quiet and meek, displaying a plant to a friend at the table. Sirius snorted. Frank and Alice had been considerable Aurors, fierce but fair. Their son was not cut of the same cloth, though he could no doubt be a warrior if pushed. There was a reason he was in Gryffindor.

The two faces he’d been looking for came in almost last. His shoulders stiffened a bit as he spotted a ginger-haired boy and a girl with wild brown curls. There they were. Harry’s _friends._ Ron Weasley had been unconscious and in an entirely separate area, while Harry had been going after his sister. Hermione Granger had been petrified. Yet both had instantly judged their former friend guilty, like a certain wolf. For that, they deserved something…_special._

He pulled his eyes from them with effort, noting that they recognized Lupin if not himself. Order members, possibly. They were young but naïvely idealistic, the type Dumbledore liked to pick for his little vigilante group.

He didn’t pay attention to the Sorting of the first years, eyes instead picking out a figure standing in the shadows by the doors. Harry’s disguise was a good one, he certainly wouldn’t have guessed that was an Azkaban escapee. He watched in private amusement as dark-colored eyes scanned the Head Table, stopping on his spot. Harry didn’t react for a moment, then shook his head with a look of rueful disbelief. Sirius restrained a laugh with effort.

Dumbledore stood, his arms spread wide and a smile on his face. Sirius made sure his face was carefully expressionless, not giving away the disgust and anger he felt towards the old man.

“Welcome first years and returning students! I hope you have enjoyed your summer and are ready for another year of learning. Before we begin the feast, you are first going to witness a historic occasion. For the first time in over 62 years, we are accepting a transfer student into our graduating year.”

A lot of hissing whispers started up amongst the students, only gaining in volume as Minerva McGonagall said firmly, “Seth Griffin.”

Harry walked into the light of the torches and candles, his pace the normal almost prowling grace. His features were attractive, reduced only by the cold, closed-off expression on his face. His poise and grace put to shame many of the pureblood children that had been learning since they were toddlers. He gave a small half-smile to McGonagall and sat down lightly on the small stool, his shoulders straight.

A couple of minutes passed and Sirius got a distinct impression Harry and the Sorting Hat were likely having a chat. He’d been surprised when Harry had told him in Azkaban that the Sorting Hat had talked to him, actually asking him where he wanted to go. He wondered curiously what this conversation consisted of. It was a few moments later that rip near the brim opened wide and the hat declared, “SLYTHERIN!”

The hisses started up again by the majority of the school, though Sirius noted the Slytherins were expressionless. Well, almost. His cousin’s son Draco looked like he was about two seconds from throwing a tantrum. Sirius smirked. Draco knew who Harry was but he couldn’t say a thing about it, thanks to wards cast by the Dark Lord himself. He couldn’t even give it away via Legilimency. He just _knew_ Harry was going to have fun with that.

Dumbledore gave his speeches and announcements after the feast, introducing himself and Remus Lupin as the co-Professors for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Sirius merely raised his hand in a slow wave, refusing to stand up and make a spectacle of himself. Then the Headmaster dismissed the students and staff, Sirius rising. He made his way out of the room before Remus Lupin could catch his attention, heading for his quarters.

_Well,_ he thought with a smirk, _this will be fun._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fun, so is the next one. We get to see the Gringotts fallout from the Order's POV as well as another nasty surprise. I'm going on vacation, maybe I'll get some writing done!
> 
> Note: I don't own Harry Potter. Bit of language, bad Harry!

It had been exactly one week since Harry had been sorted into Slytherin. Or rather, his alternate identity, Seth Griffin. He’s sitting at the Slytherin table for breakfast, making his way slowly through the balanced meal according to his dietary plan set by the Dark Lord’s healers. His gaze flicks along the table, noting with amusement the annoyed, frustrated gaze from Draco Malfoy. Draco can’t get around the oath of silence he had to swear to the Dark Lord regarding Harry and Sirius’ true identities and it’s been driving the teen insane trying.

There’s so much pent up _rage_ in his aura that it nearly tints it, a delicious sight to Harry’s magically sensitive gaze. He wonders if he pushes hard enough if the teen would actually implode from his lack of an outlet. It’s tempting, to see how far he can push the little Malfoy. He has no respect for the little brat, he’s still his father in miniature and Harry can squash him like a bug. No, he has far more important targets.

Harry resists letting his gaze wander over to the Gryffindor table, knowing that if he does his eyes will linger a little too long on his former _friends_ and then the emotions will show on his face. He’s past dislike or loathing now. Now he _hates _them, and it’s a living thing in his gut, filling him with dark desire to see them screaming on the floor at his feet.

He bites down on the inside of his lip until he gets the coppery taste of blood, the sensation calming his anger enough for rational control to take over again. He will have his revenge someday, but for now he needs to stay in control of the situation. It’s dangerous for them to be here, even with how easily they infiltrated the school. The risk of discovery increases with every passing moment, every action.

He lifts his head, lets his eyes slide along the Head Table and find the nearly pure white hair of Sirius’ disguise. It’s hardly something that blends in, but the personality of Rigel Zrada suits the older man to a tee. He’s had one Defense class since term began, the rippling tension between an aloof pureblood and a known _creature _had been nearly visible, as had Lupin’s visible unease at the situation. Instead of giving anything away to the werewolf with his actions of disgust and anger, it only furthers Sirius’ disguise for him to be that way.

The most difficult part, he knows, is the spell and potion combination that hides Sirius’ actual scent. He and Lupin had been best friends for years, lovers for a few more. The werewolf intimately knew what the man normally smelled like; it was likely ingrained into his memories on a subconscious level. Thankfully, a dark spell and potion combination existed to combat such a thing, foiling the nose of a creature even as sensitive as a werewolf, especially one like Lupin. Lupin, who poisoned his wolf monthly and never knew why he was so weak. It was in the name, for Morgana’s sake! Wolfs_bane_, or wolf’s death, to translate it bluntly.

His eyes travel a short distance more, landing on the figure that is Severus Snape. A sneer curls his lip slightly at the sight of the man, with his sallow skin, greasy black hair and jagged nose. He’s far from attractive, especially in his all-black clothing with a high, starched collar. Harry knows, thanks to Sirius, that Severus Snape grew up in an area near his mother and fancied her for years, right up until or even past when he called her a ‘Mudblood’. Harry now understands some of the man’s behavior toward him and he’s sickened. He was a _child,_ for Morgana’s sake, the man shouldn’t have judged him and tarred him with the same brush as his father in resent. Really, what chance did he think he had to gain Lily Evans’ love, when her other paramour was a handsome young pureblood who could offer her everything her heart desired and more?

At the center of the table is the man responsible for most of it, if not all. Sitting in his ostentatious gilded chair that’s several inches taller than any other chair in the room, with his glinting half-moon glasses and offensive robes. Albus Dumbledore looks as much the part of Headmaster as a peacock would an eagle. He’s as flashy and false as the con artist Gilderoy Lockhart was in Harry’s fateful second year.

Normally sitting around and eating would drive him crazy with the need to move, but he’s thankful for it this morning as the post owls swoop in, dropping off parcels and letters to various students and occasionally some of the staff. Harry’s sharp eyes pick out a tawny owl that swoops down and drops of a heavy piece of parchment in front of Lupin, another doing the same with Dumbledore. Both men break the seals and unfold the parchment and even from here Harry can see the seals are gold. There are numerous seals in the wizarding world, but only one gold one that Harry can think would be going to both Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin.

He smirks. It appears Griphook took his suggestion to the managers of Gringotts and they made it action. Eagerly he watches Dumbledore’s eyes scan the parchment, only reading for a few moments before his face pales to a rather ashen color. Lupin looks like he’s seen a ghost, he sets the paper down too slowly to hide the shake of his hands. For just a moment Harry links eyes with Sirius and they both grin. Then Harry’s gathering his book bag and heading out, it takes a while to reach the classroom for Ancient Runes, after all.

*

Watching for a moment as Harry leaves the room, Sirius turns his attention on Lupin, taking some pleasure out of the were’s gray complexion.

“Bad news?” he drawls, doing his best to sound disinterested.

“Unexpected,” the werewolf says shortly. Sirius notices his hands are shaking.

_Isn’t that the truth,_ Sirius thinks with a barely withheld sneer. _You hardly expected me to kick you out of my accounts after all._

Instead Sirius gets up and strolls out of the Great Hall, unconcerned in the slightest about Remus’ new monetary issues. He’s walking along at an easy pace, picking up little bits of conversations from the students around him. Near the staircase he hears a couple of young fifth-year girls whispering about his identity’s attractive appearance and giggling. While his vanity enjoys their appreciation, he’s not the slightest bit interested in either one of them.

All of these students around him are mere children, leading simple, spoiled lives. Oh, there were some that came from bad homes or had been through a few things. But the vast majority had led easy lives where the biggest concern was what new fashion was out, or _please help me get rid of this acne!_ He resisted the desire to roll his eyes.

While he had been a bit of a playboy in his youth, he was long past that. Now he wanted someone that could hold his attention, someone worthy of devoting himself too, body and soul. Someone that could understand him and sympathize with his problems and issues. Though it initially had been a bit strange and had worried him, the focus of his affection and attention over the past couple of years had been Harry.

Who else could better understand him than one who had been through the same things as him, one who had suffered as he had suffered? Harry was so far past these simple teens in maturity and understanding that it was a gap he knew they would not be able to overcome. Harry was far older than his years thanks to the circumstances of his life, he was world-weary and cynical at seventeen.

His quiet musings had brought him to Filch’s office, which was thankfully empty of either the grouchy old caretaker or his notorious cat. He strolled to the filing cabinet in the Squib’s office and pulled open a drawer labeled ‘Dangerous’. He flicked through the papers with little interest, seeking out something else. It wasn’t there however, which worried him somewhat.

If Remus Lupin had the map, all he had to do was open it and their cover would be blown. But Sirius hadn’t seen the familiar piece of parchment on Lupin, nor had he seen it when he’d discreetly searched the other’s office. So where was the infamous map? He closed the drawer and was about to leave when he spotted another, with the label _Weasley._ Curious, he opened it.

In it were all the school exploits of one Fred and George Weasley. He remembered the name from Harry describing his ‘friends’. Fred and George were identical twins, Ron’s older brothers. They were pranksters, clever and quick-witted. According to Harry they seemed to make it their life’s mission to annoy both the caretaker and their harridan of a mother.

“_They were always popping up out of nowhere,”_ he remembers a thirteen-year-old Harry saying with wistful reminiscence. _“They seemed to know the layout of the school even better than Filch._”

Sirius sucked in a breath, wondering suddenly if the map was in the possession of the two pranksters. They weren’t here anymore, graduating a couple years ago. They didn’t know where the twins lived now, but it was a starting point. They needed to get their hands on that map. It was better safe than sorry to have it in their own possession, not to mention if the twins sympathized with their parents it would be dangerous for them to spot Harry if they were to open it for old time’s sake.

Sirius closes the drawer and exits Flich’s office, headed for his quarters. Harry is in Ancient Runes, but he needs to make sure after the lesson is done that he tells Harry about his suspicions. They would need to find out where the twins lived now and make a ‘visit’ to retrieve the map. He hopes it goes well; he doesn’t want to find out what happens if he disappoints the Dark Lord.

Remembering the ‘example’ that Peter had made, he shudders slightly. No, he doesn’t want to find out at all.

*

Diagon Alley was normally a bustling place, the center of commerce for British witches and wizards of all ages. It was a lively cacophony of noise, bright colors and cheerfully talking people, because if there was one thing the magical community liked to do it was gossip. Right in the middle of it all was a brand-new store with eye-searing colors and bright, flashing posters. But it was gone midnight and Diagon Alley was empty, the bustling center of pranks that was Weasley Wizard Wheezes was quiet.

Harry and Sirius are wearing only long black cloaks over their clothing, voluminous hoods drawn up to cover their distinctive features. Entering the pranksters’ store is far too easy fare for one who can see magic like Harry, he does it with a lazy flick of his fingers, leaning against the door and slowly opening it.

When Sirius had come to him with his suspicions of the map being in Fred and George’s possession, he’s not surprised. In hindsight, it makes perfect sense that they would get possession of the ultimate pranking tool. He’s not sure how they would have figured out the passphrase, but they’re both clever, far more so than their harridan mother ever gave them credit for. The shop is clear evidence of that, he wonders how much it must have been a slap to the face for Molly, who always thought their pranks were childish games.

There’s a modest apartment above the store, it had been easy to get the plans for the building from a public record. They walk up the stairs and open the door, casting non-verbal spells to silence their footsteps and muffle their voices. It’s easy, maybe too easy in hindsight.

“Who’s there?” A voice says harshly, a bit gruff with sleep.

Harry flicks a hand, casting a small blue witch light that hovers in the air between himself and the speaker. It’s Fred, George swiftly getting to his feet when he spots Sirius, who has his wand pointed steadily in the other twins’ direction. Harry has his hands easily at his sides and he can see it unnerves Fred, who’s eyes flick between him and Sirius.

“We have no issues with either of you,” he says coldly, “but you have something in your possession that doesn’t belong to you.”

“And what would that be?” Fred says warily.

Instead of answering, Sirius flicks his wand downward in a specific flicking motion, doing it from memory. A slightly ratty looking piece of parchment, fading yellow with age, floats out of another room and into his grasp. He folds it and tucks it into a pocket of his robes.

Mission accomplished; Harry prepares to _Obliviate_ the twins. He has no quarrel with them, he’s overheard enough conversations Ronald had with Granger to know that they don’t believe him guilty.

“Sirius Black,” George says evenly, looking directly at Sirius. “That’s who you must be. You may as well lower the hood.”

Sirius momentarily freezes before giving a small shrug and does as suggested, lowering the hood to his shoulders and giving George a grin that looks a bit more like a snarl.

“Going to do something about it, or are you just playing at being smart?”

“No need to be insulting,” George answers mildly, his wand still firmly pointed at the other. “I knew that was the only person you could be, Remus Lupin told us who the Marauders were, you’re the only one possibly who could want it aside from him and he would have just asked.”

Fred’s been staring at Harry for several long minutes now, his unblinking gaze a bit unnerving. Harry can practically see the cogs in his brain turning. “Harry?” he finally says, hesitantly.

George’s head snaps around so fast he’s surprised the other doesn’t get whiplash. He stares hard at Harry’s cloaked form as well and says softly, “It must be, I don’t know who else Sirius would bring with him that we may know.”

Reluctantly, Harry reaches up and pulls down the hood of his cloak, revealing his face to the twins. He flicks back the sleeves of his robe as well so his hands are free, which incidentally reveals the Dark Mark on his forearm. Fred’s breath catches at the sight of it, but he looks away.

“You didn’t kill Ginny, did you?” he says instead, thought it’s more a statement than a question.

“No,” Harry sneered, “I did not. Not that any of the professors, Aurors or others I came across on my short jaunt to Azkaban cared enough to ask. They all turned on me like the fucking sheep they are, including a great portion of your family.”

“Is that what made you decide to join,” George hesitated, settling for motioning to his arm.

Harry snorts a bit at their clear apprehension. “Partially,” he said coolly. “But I’m not here to chat. I’ve heard you both didn’t believe I killed your sister, for that I’ll happily _Obliviate _you both, this time. Join or work with your family’s precious _Order_ and I’ll kill you both the next time I see you.”

“You’re in Hogwarts,” Fred breathes, eyes widening in comprehension. “That’s why you wanted the map, because if anyone else had opened it your cover would be blown.”

Harry’s shoulders are rapidly stiffening, the twins are far too clever and getting a bit close to the truth for his liking. “Enough!” he snaps, flicking his hand at Fred to cast the spell. A hastily cast _protego_ gets in the way, rebounding the spell, which he bats aside.

Glaring at George, he snarls, “Stop me again and I’ll just kill you both right now. In case you can’t get it through your thick skulls, I’m trying to help you stay alive.”

“In case you can’t get it through yours,” George answers mildly, “we may want to help you.”

Sirius scoffs. “Why would you two help two marked Death Eaters in the school?”

“Maybe we’re a bit disillusioned with the vigilante activities our family is involved in, not to mention the person who leads it. Maybe we can’t help you with the school itself, but with the Order. We’re constantly being pestered by our parents to join, apparently, we insult our dead sister’s memory by refusing.”

“I’m going to kill a lot of that Order,” Harry snaps, “likely some members of your family included. Why would you help us knowing I plan to make them pay for leaving me to suffer in that hell for five years?”

“Penance is due where it is due,” Fred shoots back, startling Harry. “I’ve always said karma is a mean bitch with a long memory.”

Sirius is startled into a small laugh. Harry is unamused, staring into the bright blue eyes and steadily flicking through the other’s thoughts in search of any sign of false pretenses. To his surprise he finds none, the twins’ offer is genuine.

He utters a long string in Latin, slashing his hand at a sharp angle. Briefly gold light flares around all of them before dissipating. “I’ve locked all of this conversation behind a complex secrecy ward,” he warns, staring at sky-blue eyes. “If you even try to say a word to anyone, or write it down, or communicate in any way, it will punish you harshly. Send me your offer in an official letter, I’ll pass it on to our Lord.”

Fred nods. As Harry and Sirius begin to leave, he says, “It’s good to see you, Harry.”

Harry freezes, looks back and nods. Then they disappear through the door.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter. Sirius has a private meeting with Voldemort.

It’s the weekend, and Sirius is out for his usual stroll through the grounds. He’s been making a habit of going out in the evenings, just in case something comes up. It’s pretty much his established routine with the staff by now, after dinner and curfew he heads out onto the grounds, walking in the crisp night air. He’s not worried about being attacked by anything, he’s more than able to defend himself, especially now that he has a wand.

Not that he doesn’t know how to defend himself without one. It had been one of the most humiliating parts about being thrown to Azkaban without a backward glance. He’d never realized how much he relied on his magic and his wand in particular to defend himself. He’d taken a few thorough thrashings from the guards at the prison before he’d realized that he had to use what he had to keep them away. The first time he’d fought back it had startled them, but they hadn’t stopped. It hadn’t been until he’d slammed one man headfirst into his cell wall and almost snapped his neck before they’d finally backed off.

It was something most of Voldemort’s elite already knew how to do, much to his surprise. He’d always thought the pureblood families his parents hung out with to be stuck-up, pampered little kings and queens who’d rather die than dirty their precious hands. The first time he’d seen Rodolphus Lestrange bodily pick up a guard and send him flying into a wall had been a startling eye-opener. His cousin Bella was no different, resorting to using her long nails to gouge and scratch at vulnerable places if she had to.

So no, even if he was disarmed, he wasn’t worried about being able to defend himself. He could always use his Animagus form, but that was a last resort. Finally unlocked, it was like greeting a long-lost friend the first time he’d transformed once the healers deemed him stable enough just before coming to the school. He itched to change and run through the familiar forest but he knew better. Remus Lupin would recognize his form instantly and there was a good chance the traitor had told Dumbledore about his ability.

Lupin was out here on the grounds tonight actually, though not in human form. Tempting as it was, Sirius avoided heading in the direction of the infamous willow, settling on his private amusement at the pain the other was no doubt going through every moon, especially since he was taking the literal poison that was the Wolfsbane Potion. He was pathetic, especially since Sirius had met _real_ werewolves.

Compared with his sire Fenrir Greyback, Remus Lupin was little more than a tame dog. The man kept Sirius’ back on edge for the first few months after he’d met him, but over the years that they’d both been in Azkaban, he’d grown to appreciate the other’s dark sense of humor and very blunt outlook on life. That and Fenrir had been the first to care about his godson after himself, once they’d realized who the small, skinny boy in the black cell next to Sirius was.

Sirius’ hands clenched into fists. One of these days, he was going to give the Order some of the pain they’d dealt to a precious magical child. One of these days, he was going to stand in front of them and shove their noses in the fact that Harry was _innocent_ of the crime they’d condemned him so easily for. One of these days, they would pay for every single _moment_ of hell he’d undeservingly been through. It was a recitation he went through often, ever since he’d realized who the tiny figure in the cell next to him really was.

He smirked, wondering at how horrified the Order would be to realize just who Harry was now, the company he kept. Bella was quite fond of him, his dry, sarcastic wit and slightly unbalanced and _unusual _use of common spells had her constantly delighted. They’d spent hours in Azkaban going over increasingly creative ways to ‘entertain’ people, especially some of the Order. Fenrir was fond of him as well, seeing him in the manner of a younger sibling of sorts, teaching him how to properly handle the daggers he was now so fond of.

In fact, all of Voldemort’s elite in Azkaban had taken to Harry, aside from Antonin Dolohov. Sirius had resolved years ago to keep a sharp eye on the coward, who reminded him disgustingly of Peter Pettigrew. He would never face off against Harry directly, he was far too afraid of the power a ‘dirty half-blood’ possessed. But stab him in the back at an opportune moment? Oh _yes,_ that was precisely his type of thing. Sirius’ magic sparked in rage at the very thought. Dolohov, or any of his ilk for that matter, would have to get through _him_ first.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a sudden, slightly painful burning sensation. His eyes widened and he gazed at his forearm, which was to anyone else it’s normal pale alabaster color. To his eyes and anyone in the know the Dark Mark stood out starkly on his arm, color even darker at the moment. He was being _summoned._ It had never happened before, though he knew immediately what to do.

He turned, heading towards Hogsmeade. While not as sensitive to magic as Harry, he could still feel the wards, feel where they were strongest and weakest. The weakest point was actually on the left of the village, in near enough the middle of the Forbidden Forest. He reached the spot, touched the Mark with his pointer finger and Apparated, following the directions given by the spell. Hitting the ground at a swift, easy walk he flicked his wand, subtly summoning his robes and mask. He didn’t put on the distinctive mask until just before he reached the door, striding into Malfoy Manor as if he owned it.

He followed the trail of magic the Mark provided and found the Dark Lord in the same study Harry had described, likely Lucius’. He felt some slight amusement at the snobbish man’s likely annoyance at being shoved out of his own office, having to settle for one somewhere else in the spacious manor. This one was particularly opulent, with dark mahogany furniture, peacock blue leather and a large balcony overlooking the elegant gardens.

Sirius dropped gracefully to one knee; the move even easier to do now than it had been at his initiation thanks to the Healer’s excellent work at getting him on track towards being healthy once again. He remained silent, comfortable with not speaking unless spoken to, years of pureblood etiquette lessons that had been drummed into his head coming back with ease.

“Tell me, Sirius, how come Severus Snape never appears as promptly as you have tonight, yet you are both leaving from the same place?”

“Severus Snape is likely not as sensitive to magic as he implies, My Lord. I am not as sensitive as Harry, but I can still feel the point where the wards are weakest. There is no need to traverse the entirety of the wards if you find a sufficient weak spot.”

There was a rustle of silk and the Dark Lord spoke again, “Look at me, Sirius, and remove the mask.”

Sirius removed the ornate mask and looked up. The Dark Lord sat in front of him, behind the massive desk. His burning scarlet eyes were focused on Sirius’ still form, eyes contemplative.

“I have had my doubts about you over the past few weeks, Sirius Black. There was a portion of me that was very tempted to just leave you and Potter behind once he made his demand that you were a part of his bargain. The bane of your mother’s existence, flouting all the rules and traditions set down by your very ancient and well-known family.”

“I am about to give you a task, one that will tell me whether you truly are loyal to my cause or not. It has to do with your family, in a way. But first, a bit of information and a warning.”

The Dark Lord’s eyes flashed and his aura expanded a bit, enough to cause the air to become thick and heavy with intent. Sirius made sure his posture remained the same as it had been since he arrived, showing no fear or flickering conviction. He was a Black, he would not be easily cowed.

The Dark Lord’s unusual eyes were almost vaguely approving at his response. Then he spoke, and Sirius froze in surprise. “I intend to make Harry Potter my heir, Sirius Black. There is no other that would suit, none more worthy. There are things that link us, far more than just the scar I gave him. He and I are very similar in intrinsically important ways. I am aware that there is a relationship between the two of you, one that he values highly. I do not intend to interfere in it. However, let it be known I am not very approving of his choice, there are those that are far more suiting in my opinion. So be aware that I will be watching you carefully, Black. At the _slightest_ indication you are going to go back to your old ways, I will not hesitate to remove you.”

Sirius’ mind raced. He took the warning about his behavior readily enough, he knew a man like Voldemort was right to be suspicious about his sudden conviction to join the Dark. That was not the greatest surprise. He cleared his throat, made sure his voice was even and said,

“My Lord, is Harry aware that you intend to bestow this honor upon him?”

“As of now, no he is not. It is my right to tell him this and I will do so when it suits me. If he knows before I intend it, I will not be pleased with you.”

“Understood,” Sirius said quietly.

“Now, onto the reason why I brought you here tonight. I have been collecting objects that I made when I was younger, magical artifacts that are of great importance to me. You are going to help me retrieve one.”

“Your younger brother Regulus was a traitor, but I did not kill him,” Voldemort said bluntly. “He ran into some of my defenses around one of these objects and it killed him. He intended to destroy the object himself, flouting his vows of loyalty to myself and my cause. Had he not died and left his _insulting_ message behind, I would have killed him, in a far more painful manner.”

Sirius momentarily froze, startled. He’d always assumed Regulus was a coward and had gotten cold feet, running away. He hadn’t thought that he was actually betraying the Dark Lord by _stealing_ something from him.

“I have figured out how he managed the feat, and it has to do with a house elf. One that belongs to your family. I believe you know the one I am thinking of. Summon him here, force him to tell you what he did with the object. It is a locket.”

Sirius did indeed know which elf Voldemort was thinking of, and bile rose in his throat. The insane creature who was devoted to his mother and had helped in her ‘lessons’ to her sons. The elf gleefully standing aside and watching as they were more or less tortured for pureblood tradition by a sadistic old bitch. One who was greatly responsible for Bellatrix’s unstable condition. One who had defied his orders to his Lord, Sirius’ father, in obeying Walburga’s orders first and foremost over his own.

“_Kreacher,”_ he snapped, voice full of anger.

_CRACK!_

The elf was more withered with age now than he had been, bulbous nose almost touching the floor as he, very reluctantly, bowed his head.

“Master summons Kreacher,” he said in his nasally voice, muttering under his breath about how disappointed Mistress would be.

Rage was rising in Sirius blood, making his magic _crackle_ and tinting his vision. He inhaled a slow breath and then snapped, “Kreacher, I order you to tell us what you did with Regulus’ locket.”

Kreacher only then seemed to notice the Dark Lord, cowering in terror. His breath sputtered and withered skin paled, he began whimpering and tearing at his skin, resisting the urge to obey the order from his Master. Eventually though the magic that bound him to Sirius exerted it’s full force, sputtering words leaving the terrified elf’s lips.

“K-Kreacher took the locket as ordered by M-Master Regulus. K-Kreacher tried everything h-he could to fulfill Master’s l-last order and destroy it, but nothing worked. K-Kreacher doesn’t have it anymore,” the elf spat, sounding angry at himself.

“Who has the locket, Kreacher?” Sirius ordered, magic crackling.

“A-an old wizard, M-Master,” the elf sputtered, still resisting speaking. “T-Tall, with a long beard and g-garish robes.”

_Dumbledore._ Voldemort’s magic snapped angrily through the room, obviously coming to the same conclusion as Sirius.

Kreacher shrieked in sudden agony, drawing Sirius’ angry stare. The elf was writhing on the ground, a truly pitiful sight as he took the brunt of Voldemort’s anger. A visible streak of Voldemort’s magic, black in color, lashed out and struck the elf in the head. With a last, pain-filled shriek the elf’s head snapped to the side and an audible _crack!_ accompanied the garish sight of an obviously broken neck.

Sirius’ lip curled in a small sneer. He didn’t care in the slightest about the elf’s demise, would have gladly done it himself as revenge for his torturous childhood.

“Say nothing of this meeting,” Voldemort commanded coldly. “If you get a chance to enter Dumbledore’s study without attracting attention, do so. The locket is ornate with a large ‘S’ in emeralds on the lid. I will dispose of the elf, Nagini requires a meal.”

“My Lord,” Sirius bowed his head. He stood slowly, replaced the mask and walked out, heading for the entrance. He shuddered slightly once he was back on Hogwarts’ grounds. He would make sure he never disappointed the Dark Lord.

He didn’t want to end up like that elf.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry plays with Draco and gains an ally.
> 
> Happy 40th Birthday to a boy wizard who continues to capture the hearts and imaginations of generations. 🎂🍦🎁🎈

Harry lounged on a settee in the Slytherin common room nonchalantly, looking around with idle curiosity. He hadn’t spent more than twenty minutes in the Slytherin common room his fateful last year at Hogwarts. It had taken them too long to find the Slytherin common room in the first place and Ron’s Polyjuice had begun to wear off, threatening to expose them. Now here he sat in the heart of what would have been ‘enemy’ territory to his impressionable youth. Better yet, there was nothing Draco Malfoy could do about it.

Harry had enjoyed wandering around Malfoy Manor after escaping Azkaban, taking enormous pleasure in watching his ‘hosts’ twitching nerves as they resisted the urge to throw him out. After being marked as part of the Inner Circle he’d enjoyed it even more. There was a certain pleasure to be had parading around in front of Lucius and watching him grit his teeth and leave the room. The man was no doubt enraged he was unable to do anything about it because the half-blood was his _equal _in the ranks, not a subordinate as he’d expected (hoped). He’d not anticipated there being even more fun to be had here.

The fact that Draco _knew_ who he was and could do absolutely _nothing_ was a flavor of satisfaction that Harry enjoyed all too much. The Dark Lord’s work had been thorough, Draco couldn’t even imply that he was Harry Potter to anyone, not even Severus Snape. The man had no warning that the bane of his existence was literally under his crooked nose. All Severus Snape knew was that Seth Griffin was a half-blood sorted into Slytherin that Draco hated for some reason.

It was currently half-nine in the evening, curfew for younger students was an hour ago. The only students lounging around were sixth and seventh years, raised in the secrecy and privacy of Slytherin house. What happened in Slytherin stayed in Slytherin. They wouldn’t report a single thing to the Headmaster even if illegal spells were cast because it wasn’t the Headmaster’s _business_ to know. With the knowledge of this, Draco’s actions would seem even more idiotic later on.

“Griffin, what do you think you’re doing?!” Draco spat, striding up to him. Apparently, the spoiled brat’s patience had finally worn out. Goody.

“Lounging, isn’t it what one does in the evenings?” he drawled in response, watching the other’s eyebrow twitch.

Around them the students watch with a mounting tension. Draco’s unusual behavior had them on edge. Pureblood heirs didn’t behave in such a way, antagonizing unknown half-bloods of questionable heritage. They were above such people, or so they believed. One day Harry would enjoy the re-education process of the snobbish pureblood students. For now he merely watched Draco, curious about what the Malfoy brat would say.

“You no more belong here than a filthy _Muggle_,” Draco sneers, “I don’t know how you tricked your way into this House, but it’s going to be fixed tonight!”

Even knowing that he was referring to Harry, who had been sorted into Gryffindor, a slowly swelling _rage_ built up inside. How dare he? How _dare_ he refer to him as if he was a _Muggle, _like those filthy _Dursleys?_ Or imply that he had tricked his way into the house he belonged in the first place. He was more Slytherin than Draco possessed in every part of his being. It was only his name that had gotten him here in the first place.

Harry stood, slowly, regally. His eyes remained cold, expressionless. He loosened his hold on his aura, allowing it to become noticeable in the room. Several more magic-sensitive students paled, registering the increasing pressure and the _menacing_ nature of his magic. He surged it forward, wrapping it around Draco by sheer will and forcing it to tighten around him, constricting him.

Watching Draco’s face as his magic sank into the boy’s skin and _pressed_ was satisfying. The other’s face was paling even more than normal, his features becoming more pointed as his face twisted in agony, eyes turning bluer with the emotion. He started to sink to the floor, only to find Harry’s hand wrapped around his throat. With just the _slightest_ effort he put a little of his magic into his arm and picked the boy off the ground, slamming him forcefully into the wall against the nearby fireplace.

The longer Draco was pinned there, more tiny beads of sweat appeared on his skin. The sheer _terror _in his face was amazing, Harry’s lips curling in a mockery of a smile as he kept him there. His desire to make the boy bleed was increasing by the moment, but as satisfying as it would be to leave the Malfoy heir in a puddle of glorious crimson, he knew he had to be careful. Such were the cons of being here under disguise. How…_disappointing._

“You know,” he said casually as he stared into terrified eyes, “I’ve spent quite a while in the close company of some of your family. The better members, in my opinion. You and your mother may have Black blood, but you lack the _spine_ and will that make the Blacks so extraordinary. Particularly, I’ve spent quite a lot of time with your aunt, the lovely and _creative _Bella.”

He could hear inhales from the students behind him, no doubt watching with riveted fascination, not wanting to see but having to _know._ Every student in the room knew who ‘Bella’ referred to. The fact that he’d been close acquaintances with Bellatrix Lestrange meant only one thing, he’d been inside Azkaban prison before.

Meanwhile, Harry was delighted to realize that Draco’s face could indeed still go paler than it already was. He was almost pasty now in complexion, breathing erratic and shaky. So far from the poised elegance of a pureblood Heir he’d always projected. Apparently, Draco’s fear of Bellatrix was deep indeed, something Harry would file away for later.

“So, while I would love to leave you bleeding on the ground as a punishment for your insolence, I shall have to be more _creative._”

Harry’s smirk was dangerous, bloodthirsty. He gathered his magic that was wrapped around and inside the boy and _twisted,_ filling it with his intent. Draco started to scream, hoarsely because Harry’s hand was still wrapped around his throat, his body shaking in convulsions. Harry increased the pressure, watching in pleasure as the boy began to bleed from his nose, ears and mouth, having bit into his lip to try and stop his pitiful screams.

He pushed just a little harder and the screams abruptly cut off, Draco going slack in his hand as he lost consciousness. Harry removed his hand, letting the boy fall to the cobblestone floor roughly. He would have several nice bruises to go with a pounding headache and nerve damage akin to the Cruciatus curse, though it wasn’t the dreaded spell. Dumbledore’s weak wards or no, he would be found near immediately if he cast an Unforgiveable in the school.

Looking around at the pale students gathered in the room he said coldly, “What is the rule of Slytherin?”

“W-what happens in Slytherin stays in Slytherin,” a terrified Pansy Parkinson answered, eyes fixed on Draco’s unconscious but still twitching form.

“Correct Miss Parkinson, five points to Slytherin,” he answered her mockingly. “See to him, if word gets to _Professor _Snape of my actions I will know. You do not want to cross me. Let this,” he gestured to Draco, “be your _only warning._”

He strolled out of the room in an ominous silence, heading for his bed. What a _lovely _end to the day, if he was asked.

*

The next morning Harry was content to sit in his usual spot near the end of the Slytherin table and eat a few mouthfuls of breakfast. He was still taking the potions he’d been prescribed by the Dark Lord’s healers, after being in Azkaban prison with erratic or forgotten meals his stomach had shrunk considerably. He ate when hunger prompted him and his schedule allowed. It was better for him to do it this way than forcing three large meals and suffering the discomfort and indigestion that resulted.

He could feel the glances, the nervous stares and covert observation from his fellow seventh-year Slytherins. It amused him, without really even trying he’d managed to gain more respect from his new house than he’d ever had from the entire school. He wondered how many more times he would have to put Draco and his ilk in place before Draco lost all face and prestige from his house.

A shadow cast over his empty plate made him look up. It was the Nott heir, Theodore. He looked a little nervous, but also proud and determined. “May I join you?”

Harry considered for a moment and then gestures to the empty bench across from himself. Theodore sat, studying him for a moment. The boy had dark walnut-brown hair, gold-brown eyes and shapely, aristocratic features. His father was in the Inner Circle, Lord Thaddeus Nott if Harry remembered correctly. Nipping through the boy’s mind with his Legilimency skills, he came to a surprising conclusion. He was going to offer his support and alliance to Harry, without any ulterior motives other than realizing that the power within his house was shifting.

“I wish to offer you my allegiance and support, Griffin. I hope you will do me the honor of accepting the offer.”

Harry’s brow raised and he said, “I’m surprised, Nott. I expected you to be sitting down there with the rest of your peers and giving me suspicious looks, especially after last night.”

“Last night was actually the deciding factor,” Nott responded. “You were an unknown before, a powerful student certainly but a risk. And then last night happened and the last few pieces clicked into place.”

“Do tell,” Harry said, looking unconcerned in the slightest.

“While last night would frighten any student with half a brain, it was the conversation that revealed your true identity to me. When you mentioned having a close friendship with ‘Bella’, it meant one of two things. You were either an Azkaban convict yourself or an extravagant liar.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Before he could become too insulted, Nott continued. A little hurriedly for his calm demeanor, but he likely felt the pulse of warning from Harry’s magic.

“I didn’t believe it to be the latter, which means the only option was the former. While you no doubt wear a complicated glamour, you would still need to be young enough to pass as a Hogwarts student. There is only one current or former Hogwarts student who has the ability to make Draco Malfoy turn into a screaming toddler. One who was, according to my father, recently inducted into the Inner Circle along with an infamous mass murderer.”

“Well guessed, Nott,” Harry commented, rolling his shoulders lazily. “Now are you going to piss off your Lord and give me away, or make the move your fellows will soon be envious of?”

“I’ll follow you, Potter. And it’s Theodore, please.”

“You may use whatever given name you prefer as long as Harry is not used in public,” he replied.

“Seth,” Theodore nodded. “It suits you.”

The whisper of many wings heralded the arrival of the post owls. A tawny dropped the morning’s paper off in front of Harry. He unrolled it and stared for a moment. Then an absolutely _vicious _smile crossed his face.

“What?” Theodore asked warily.

“I’m liking how this day is starting,” Harry smirked, spinning the paper so Nott could see it.

Crowning a glorious photo of Peter Pettigrew’s macabre posed body was the headline ‘**Peter Pettigrew Found Dead with Dark Mark! Is Sirius Black Innocent?’**

Looking up at Remus Lupin’s ashen expression, Harry held back a satisfied smile with effort. Looks like a certain wolf’s day was about to go downhill. Good.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Order, a bit of Voldemort...  
The chapter that mainly earns the rating for this story is coming up soon, I will pre-warn you. There were two scenes that prompted me to write Shatter, that chapter is one and the ending.

Being a weekend, Dumbledore had taken a calculated risk and called a session of the Order. While his co-Professor was suspicious enough of him already, Remus doubted his absence would be noted by the cold, aloof Zrada. He sat at the Weasley dining table, staring at the wood grain. It had only been a couple of weeks since the beginning of term and he already wished that it was over. He enjoyed teaching; it was one of those careers he would have readily taken up after school if not for his _illness._

But the current year was shaping up to be one of the worst in recent memory. He had been hopeful, excited for the beginning of term when Dumbledore had informed him that he had gotten permission for Remus to teach again with a co-Professor. None of the others had to have that condition, but he was shocked Dumbledore had convinced a bunch of pureblood witches and wizards to give him another shot in the first place. He had gladly agreed to the co-Professor.

And then he’d actually _met_ Rigel Zrada. Handsome, elegant, composed. He reminded Remus of friends long gone in small, vital ways, patterns of speech and rare insights into his sense of humor. But he was so _cold,_ or at least he was to Remus_._ The first time he’d met the man he’d looked directly into Remus’ eyes and said, “I’m aware that I am required to teach alongside you this term, Lupin. I am also aware of your _condition,_ shall we say? I am not required in any sort of form to be more than an acquaintance, nor would I want to. Keep your distance, if you please.”

Just remembering it was enough to make Remus flinch at the cold derision in pale blue eyes. It was the same reaction he’d faced his entire life from people the moment they realized he wasn’t fully human. It made him long to be a student again, to be surrounded by friends who had supported him through thick and thin.

In front of him on the table was yesterday’s paper, blaring the headline that had haunted him all day yesterday and left him unable to sleep that night. The gruesome image of Peter Pettigrew’s body, terror in his open eyes with a badly broken arm and the Dark Mark shining boldly on his forearm. Had they been wrong about what happened that night? Was the man he’d been in love with _innocent? _Imprisoned without cause for sixteen years in a prison the rest of the wizarding world called inhumane?

It left a twisting unease in his gut and a sense of guilt so strong it threatened to overwhelm him. It also made the official missive he’d received from Gringotts make so much more _sense._ At the time, the fact that Sirius had cut him off from his accounts had just seemed like a clear warning, the man knew he’d been accessing the vault. But now? Sirius had always been one with a flair for dramatics, he’d been raised by a Dark pureblood family and had just a tad bit of the instability that came with it. The man was taunting him, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. _You didn’t believe in me, so now I don’t believe in you._

When he realized the Headmaster had arrived, he looked up, eyes flaring with bit of gold, stared the man in his knowing blue eyes and said, “Did you know that Sirius was innocent this entire time?”

“Of course not Remus,” the man reassured. “I had thought the Potters stuck with Sirius as their Secret-Keeper, I officiated it remember? This is as much of an unpleasant shock to me as I’m sure it is to you.”

Remus looked down at the article again, stared at Peter’s dead body. Small, stuttering Peter, who had followed Sirius and James around like an avid worshipper. Moderately talented but lacking the magical strength to back it up, relying on help from his friends. Gossiping Peter, whose greatest talent had laid in his ability to sneak around the school and eavesdrop on conversations unnoticed.

“Do we know anything about this?” Arthur asked, looking at the photo.

“We do,” Albus said solemnly. “Harry Potter and Sirius Black were inducted into Voldemort’s Inner Circle. It was Harry who’s ambient magic broke Peter’s arm. It was Sirius however who used the Cruciatus and Killing Curse on his former friend. Severus was there. ‘I’m going to finally commit the murder I spent sixteen years in prison for’, were his last words to Peter.”

Remus paled, staring at the photo with an ashen expression. His unease only grew when the Headmaster looked at him and said quietly, “I would restrain from leaving school grounds outside of Order meetings, my boy. I’m afraid there is a good chance he will attempt to get to you.”

Remus’ heart clenched in pain as he stared at the photo, all too easily imagining what his last moments were like. The terrified recognition that he was going to die and who was going to kill him. He was surprised Harry had been the one to cause such damage to his arm, the boy’s parents had been so forgiving and he had seemed so much like them as a toddler. But then this was the boy who would go on to murder an eleven-year-old girl at twelve.

Where had they gone wrong?

Molly was looking at Albus as well, her face rather pale. “Albus, we got a message from Gringotts, they’re demanding the money back. You told us that the goblins wouldn’t care that the money came from the Potter boy’s vault, they would see it as recompense for the death of our daughter.”

“The only thing I can think of is that Sirius and Harry have taken control of their vaults,” Albus said grimly.

“They’re convicted felons!” Hermione protested.

“The goblins don’t care that they’ve been convicted by wizards. They both come from old money, the accounts are worth more being used than they are stagnant,” Bill Weasley explained, sounding a bit impatient.

“I received a missive as well, I will try to visit Gringotts and make the goblins see reason,” Albus said. “I don’t see it being successful but I will try. There are things in the Potter and Black vaults that will be needed if we are to hold any ground against Voldemort.”

Remus found, as the meeting went on, that he didn’t have any sense of rising confidence in their chances. Looking at the picture of Peter Pettigrew again he shuddered. It seemed Sirius’ Black heritage had come out to play after all. 

*

Upon realizing that both the Headmaster and Remus Lupin were gone, Sirius was making his way steadily toward the Headmaster’s office. They were likely having an Order meeting to discuss the paper from yesterday morning, the one that showed off Harry and Sirius’ handiwork from their Initiation. Sirius’ lips curved into a small smirk as he remembered the pure delight of destroying that stuttering coward. He’d like to do it again. Perhaps soon he would get the chance. Harry was certainly having fun with the students.

Yesterday morning it hadn’t been hard to notice the way the majority of Slytherin sat with some distance between themselves and ‘Seth’, aside from Theodore Nott. Paired with Draco Malfoy’s paler than normal features and the subtle hint of outright fear in his face when he’d looked in Harry’s direction… Sirius chuckled. He wasn’t surprised Harry had taken the first opportunity to put that little peacock in his place. Harry was ruthless, even more so than Sirius.

While teaching alongside Remus was_ irritating_ to say the least, there were small pleasures to be had. He held strict control over his bloodlust, resisting the urge to take out his wand and cause that miserable wolf some pain. The opportunity would come if he was patient, he was certain of it. The temporary satisfaction to be had wasn’t worth getting removed from the school and thus failing in his orders from the Dark Lord.

Reaching the gargoyle he said impatiently, “Lemon Drops!”

As the gargoyle spun around and revealed the staircase his eyes rolled at the inane password. The stupid old man and his Muggle sweets… The instructors all had access to an override so they wouldn’t have to guess which candy was the current password. There were a limited amount of choices, but still.

He climbed the staircase easily and opened the door, eyes going first to the perch for Fawkes. The phoenix was missing, out flying somewhere or perhaps he’d gone with the Headmaster. Sirius was unsure of why such a legendary creature remained with the old man, surely he wasn’t worthy of such a companion? Sirius wouldn’t have put it past the manipulative bastard to have a Tether of some sort on the bird, it suited his image and importance.

Making his way over to the massive desk he carefully opened each drawer. There was no distinctive locket, however there was a ton of paperwork needing attending to. How often was the man actually even here? He turned, studying the layout of the office. Spotting something, he stepped towards the bookcase behind the chair, eyeing a small groove in the wood where it met the edge of the upper balcony.

“_Alohomora,”_ he murmured, snorting when there was a small click and the bookcase folded back. He was both amused and not that the old man secured his secret items with a spell a first year could unlock. Cocky old fool…

There were a few interesting items in here, some trinkets made of silver and a few boxes. Of the most interest to Sirius was the case directly in front of him, the only one that was locked. With a key, no less, not a spell.

“_Accio key,”_ he swiped his wand, an old silver key flying out from the rickety desk in the corner. He put the key in the lock and turned. His heart stopped.

The distinctive locket the Dark Lord had described was there, solid gold and an ornate emerald ‘S’ on the cover. The reason for his suddenly dry throat and hammering heart was equally obvious. The locket had a black, scorched look, the middle of it melted into a twisted lump by incredible heat. The Dark Lord was not going to be pleased…

He carefully duplicated the object and took the original, closing and locking the case and replacing the key. He turned to leave and paused. Sitting on a shelf was a small vial with the shimmery material of a memory in it. What caught his eye was the clearly written label. ‘_Severus Snape,’_ with the date of his and Harry’s initiation meeting on it. Unable to resist the temptation he took it off the shelf, duplicating it as well. If this was what he thought, perhaps he could divert some of the Dark Lord’s anger onto Snape -and he and Harry could prove once and for all the greasy git was a traitor.

Walking back to the doorway he turned and cast a spell from his family library to remove all traces of his magic from the room. Eyeballing the empty perch once again he smirked, shrugged his shoulders and cast a strong ‘_Finite’_. Wouldn’t it be amusing if the bird never came back… He exited the office, tucking both the locket and vial into his pocket. He would need to get with Harry to review the memory in the vial. He strolled down the corridor with a small grin on his face, trying to ignore the destroyed locket sitting heavy in his pocket as well.

Hopefully he could avert some of the Dark Lord’s anger with news that Severus was in fact a traitor. Remembering Peter he smirked. They all knew what the Dark Lord did to traitors.

Snivellus had always acted so superior to others, all because he was good at Potions and clever at inventing spells. The greasy git had been enraged the first time the Marauders had turned one of his spells back on him, the oh so amusing Tongue-Locking Curse. Skulking around the school with pureblood students at his back to protect him, watching talented Lily Evans fall in love with a boy who was so much more than he had been. Sirius had always enjoyed watching James put him in his place. It would be oh so satisfying to watch the Dark Lord do so as well.

He looked forward to it.

*

Harry chose to accompany Sirius to his meeting with the Dark Lord after viewing the memories from Dumbledore’s office. He was practically salivating with anticipation; it clearly proved that Severus Snape was a traitor, after all the Dark Lord had said he wanted their initiation to remain unknown to the greater wizarding world. Sirius was anticipating their Lord’s reaction as well, though it was tempered with a bit of fear due to the melted locket.

Taking a calculated risk, Harry had gone back into the Chamber of Secrets and retrieved the diary that had caused such a reaction from the Dark Lord. He gave it to Sirius and told the man to give it to Voldemort, it was a prized possession and may off-set the man’s anger a bit more. He knew the Dark Lord wasn’t going to be happy about the fate of the locket, but getting the diary out of the school would soothe the man’s anger a bit.

It was close to midnight when they apparated to Malfoy Manor, choosing now as an appropriate time because they were least likely to be missed by Dumbledore or any other members of the staff. Nott was covering for Harry, while Rigel Zrada was free to come and go as he pleased. Sirius’ open disdain for Remus had earned him some disapproval from the other instructors, but as Sirius bluntly put it, he wasn’t there to make friends.

They entered the quiet Manor, making their way towards the office Voldemort hardly ever seemed to leave. Both were granted access to the room immediately, the Dark Lord locking and silencing the door when he saw them.

“I take it if you both have left the school it is something important?” The man demanded. The hiss was absent from his voice.

“It is, my Lord. First we offer to you the diary from your conversation with Harry, he went back into the Chamber to retrieve it. Dumbledore knew not of it’s existence.”

Voldemort took the diary with the hole in the middle with reverent hands, long fingers stroking the edge of the brittle pages gently, as if caressing a treasured pet. Then, with as much composure as possible, Sirius said, “I was able to enter Dumbledore’s office just recently my Lord, I found the locket we spoke of.”

“Give it to me,” Voldemort demanded.

Visible tension had Sirius practically vibrating next to Harry as he reached into his pocket and withdrew the melted, twisted ruin that had once been an elegant locket. “It was in this condition when I found it, my Lord,” Sirius said quietly.

The temperature in the room abruptly spiked in heat to match the Dark Lord’s fury, before chilling drastically. The man’s aura was near visible as his rage grew, clenching the destroyed locket in bone-white fingers. The pressure of his magic was oppressive, smothering. Harry’s pride and admiration for Sirius grew at how composed and still he was, not showing anything more than respect for the Dark Lord even in the face of his towering rage.

Burning scarlet eyes turned on Sirius and he snarled, “_Crucio!”_

Harry put himself in the way of the spell when he saw Sirius’ flinch. The Dark Lord didn’t know that had been one of Walburga Black’s favorite spells to attempt to ‘control’ her wayward eldest son. Harry did, he was far less vulnerable to the pain after a lifetime of it at the Dursleys. A small, stuttered gasp left his lips as his limbs shook in pain, but otherwise he remained quiet.

The spell suddenly ceased; the Dark Lord was staring at him as if he were a particularly interesting specimen in a lab. “Why did you take the curse for him?” He demanded.

“Sirius was not the one who destroyed your locket, he knows it and so do you. You are rightly angry at the destruction of something precious, you went to curse him to take out your anger on something or someone else. I gave you the outlet you needed as I have more tolerance to the spell. You know of Walburga Black, my Lord, I’m sure that’s all I need to say.”

“While I am _displeased_ by the loss of the locket, I do realize it wasn’t Black that destroyed it,” the Dark Lord agreed. “It is not his aura the locket is soaked in but Albus Dumbledore’s. You did well bringing it to me Black and not attempting to hide the damage. I am pleased by your loyalty.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Sirius said quietly.

“There is something else on your minds, another reason for both of you attending to me tonight.”

“There is, my Lord,” Sirius said, withdrawing the vial. “This vial of memories was in Dumbledore’s office, in a secret area where he kept the locket and other things. Notice the label, my Lord. We viewed it before bringing it to you, not wanting to waste your valuable time. It proves beyond a doubt that the traitor in your ranks is Severus Snape.”

Voldemort took the vial from Sirius’ open hand, pulled the seal and let the silvery fluid-like substance touch just the tip of one of his fingers. A few moments later he capped the vial again, staring at it. His anger was rising again, but this time it wasn’t directed at either of them.

“I see,” the man said, a venomous hiss leaking into his voice. “Sso you thought you could outwit me, Sseverus? Thought you could serve two masters at once and come out on top?”

“My Lord,” Harry said quietly, attracting the man’s dangerous attention. “While the man is a traitor to you and deserves the instant death that awaits, may I offer an alternative? Let us deal with the traitor, he has betrayed not just you but the others in your following and the Inner Circle in particular. Give us about a month my Lord and you will be able to witness a most _satisfying_ death for the traitor. It will remove a member of the Order as well.”

There was a very vicious smile playing about Harry’s lips as he finished, attracting a small shudder from Sirius next to him. Sirius knew his brand of vicious repayment, the pleasure he took out of causing his victims agony across the scale. Whatever he had planned, Sirius knew it would be fitting.

A very cold smirk appeared on the Dark Lord’s face as he studied Harry’s. “Very well,” the man said, hiss once again absent. “The traitor’s fate is in your hands. Make him pay for his _insolence.”_

Harry’s answering smile was cold, eyes shining with malevolence. “He will, my Lord.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updates for TWO stories in one day! Yay! This one is a fun one, Voldemort and Harry have a chat. :D
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter.

“While you are here, I need to speak to you, Harry,” Voldemort said, surprising Harry. Turning his scarlet eyes to where Sirius still knelt, he hissed, “Alone.”

Sirius stood gracefully and exited the room. Harry could feel his presence on the other side of the doors, he was waiting for their business to conclude so that they could return to the school. He smiled to himself, one could never underestimate Sirius’ devotion to him, nor his protective instincts. It went both ways, of course, which was why Harry had taken the Crucio for Sirius.

He wondered if he was about to be punished for it. He’d interrupted the man’s punishment upon Sirius and dared to speak back quite boldly in face of the man’s anger. The man gestured to a chair sitting across from his own and said, “Sit.”

Surprised, Harry none the less stood and took the proffered chair, aware that to turn it down would be considered an insult. Not many were offered the opportunity to sit as the Dark Lord’s equal. Not that he considered himself the man’s equal, not by a long shot. He was thrice Harry’s age and had been gathering knowledge about magic for nearly as long a time.

“Have you ever considered the reason why you survived my attack upon your residence on that Samhain night, Harry?”

Surprised by the topic and the question, Harry took a long moment to consider how to phrase his answer.

“Not really, my Lord. I had thought that it was perhaps something my mother had done, or even sheer circumstance.”

Voldemort hummed quietly, a very _human_ sound. Locking his scarlet eyes on evergreen he said, “Deep within the bowels of the Ministry of Magic is a place known as the Department of Mysteries. The individuals who work there are called Unspeakables. It’s very hush-hush, most of the research they conduct would be denounced by the Minister if it ever came to light of the public.”

Harry frowned. “Such a place is dangerous then, if they are being ignored by the Ministry. Given too much free rein researchers will do much in the name of ‘progress’.”

“It’s one of my eventual goals, to take over the Ministry and reform it. The Department of Mysteries will have a few unpleasant shocks in store when that happens.”

Harry resisted a snort of amusement. He could well imagine.

“More importantly,” Voldemort’s burning eyes gave a sense he knew of Harry’s response and was tolerating it. “There is an entire section of the department dedicated to nothing but Fate, in the form of prophecies. Every true prophecy given by a Seer is recorded and held at the Ministry. Those fulfilled turn dark and smoky, the ones still in play resemble a simple glass orb full of white smoke.”

Harry remained quiet and patient, sensing that what Voldemort wanted to say was close at hand.

“One of those prophecies was given by a sherry-soaked fraud named Sybil Trelawney, the great-granddaughter of a famous seer named Cassandra Trelawney. She teaches Divination at Hogwarts, hired on by Dumbledore for her own safety after giving this true prophecy, her only one, at an interview.”

Voldemort removed an enormous shallow basin of solid obsidian, carved all the way around the outer rim with tiny sets of Runes. It was full of a shimmery silver-white fluid that resembled a mirror. Voldemort removed his bone white wand from his sleeve and gently stirred the contents.

Coming up from the basin was a voice, raspy in quality with an eeriness that set the tiny hairs on Harry’s neck on end.

_“The one who would defeat the Dark Lord approaches. Born as the seventh month dies to parents that have thrice defied him. He will be marked as the Dark Lord’s equal, though he shall have a power the Dark Lord knows not. The one who would defeat the Dark Lord approaches…”_

Voldemort sat back, almost reclining in his chair as he took in Harry’s features. Harry for his part was stunned. He ran over the wording of the prophecy again in his mind, vague as it was. Eventually he just looked at Voldemort, waiting for him to continue.

“This was overheard by my now _traitorous _spy, Severus Snape. He only heard the bit about the ‘seventh month and thrice defied’. There were only two children born the following year that fit that description. Neville Longbottom, son of Aurors Frank and Alice who personally managed to undo three of my most carefully planned attacks. The other was yourself, born to James and Lily Potter who had each faced me in combat three times and gotten away alive.”

“You came after me,” Harry stated, before frowning. “Why?”

“Your parents were the greater threat, and I recognized some similarities between us. As you had in your possession my diary, you no doubt are aware that I am a half-blood, same as yourself. I knew from my own self that those with supposedly ‘impure’ blood are often the greater witches and wizards, purebloods being unaware of such things as _Muggle_ genetics studies.”

“It took me years to get a hold of the full prophecy. I obviously could not just stroll into the Department of Mysteries. After years of study I learned that Seers contain something of a collective memory. I tracked down a Seer overseas and _persuaded _her to recite this full prophecy by using the bit I knew as a prompt.”

Harry had a feeling he knew what type of ‘persuasion’ Voldemort had probably used. Not that he cared about some random person in another country. Instead he was impressed at the other’s dedication and research to discover that little tidbit, not to mention finding another true Seer. They were prone to keeping their talents a well-guarded secret thanks to Dark Lords like Voldemort.

“After I regained my body and sanity, fixing the _issues_ that came with having a brewer like Pettigrew on hand, I began to consider the wording of the prophecy again. It struck me suddenly, a burst of understanding and truth. Dumbledore, in putting so much faith in that prophecy, had misinterpreted it to his own gain. He thought he was creating the one who would defeat me, with his gentle guidance and training, of course.”

“Instead what he did was help me chose the one with the power and strength that could be crafted into my Heir.”

Harry froze. He couldn’t possibly have heard that correctly…

“_The Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal”_ Voldemort quoted softly. “I have taken steps to ensure I will not be easily defeated by any opponent. As a consequence, it has stripped me of something of my humanity. I do not feel any desire for human companionship, nor any such thing as laying with a suitable witch or wizard for an heir,” the man crinkled his nose, restored by potions, in disgust at the very thought.

“So instead, thanks to Albus, I chose the one that will eventually replace me as a Dark Lord of Magic, my heir. And how very fitting an heir you are already proving to be, Harry. An unstoppable Legilimens with a propensity for wandless magic that outmatches even my own. Betrayed by those you thought were your closest friends and tossed into a living hell. Yet there you stood, strong and defiant when I broke into that hell. Unbowed, unbent and unbroken, your spirit still as fierce and wild as it always has been.”

“You have chosen to make me your heir?” Harry whispered.

“I have,” Voldemort smirked. “Do you accept?”

“I am honored by the faith you have shown in me, and will endeavor to prove my worthiness in my devotion to your cause,” Harry replied, dropping back into his kneeling position.

“_Our_ cause, my Heir. _Our_ cause.”

“Just so,” Harry replied. His mind racing, he considered. “I do not wish for you to ever doubt my loyalty as your heir, my Lord. To that end, I offer you this oath.”

“I, Harry James Potter, Lord of the Noble House of Potter, do so swear to uphold our cause to the end of my life as your Heir. I shall never raise my wand against you in willing combat, nor shall I ever defer nor defect from our cause. _So mote it be._”

Voldemort smirked.

Deep within the bowels of the Ministry, sitting on a shelf, a swirling orb turned deep red and shattered as if in an explosion, raining shards of glass onto the floor. A replica in an old man’s ornate office did the same before horrified eyes, absent their usual twinkle.

Albus Dumbledore sank into his chair at the desk of the Headmaster, staring in disbelief at the shards of the prophecy he had based everything on for nearly the last two decades. Finally, he uttered - softly, hoarsely,

“Merlin help us.”

-

Sirius was patiently waiting for Harry outside Voldemort’s office, some concern apparent in his grey eyes at Harry’s pale features. He didn’t say anything, merely led the way outside and past the Malfoy wards. They Apparated to the clearing where the wards were weakest, in near enough the middle of the Forbidden Forest. There, bathed by only the moonlight, Harry whirled to Sirius and said, “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” Sirius asked patiently, concerned. Harry was visibly thrown by something he and Voldemort had discussed.

“Did you know he intended to make me his Heir?”

Sirius blinked. He hadn’t guessed at what their topic of conversation was, though it made sense that after he and Harry had proved themselves yet again the man would take the opportunity provided.

“I did, yes. I wasn’t allowed to say anything to you, he wanted to be the one to tell you. He didn’t give an explanation of his reasoning, if that’s what you’re asking. I wasn’t about to enquire, however.”

Harry snorted. “I’m glad you didn’t. Why did he tell you before he told me I wonder?”

“Because he was _warning_ me,” Sirius said quietly, drawing Harry’s surprised attention. Sirius’ hands threatened to shake at the reminder, that and the near Crucio he’d only avoided thanks to Harry.

“He told me in no uncertain terms that he doubted my ability to stay loyal to him and his cause. He said if I wavered I would be executed before I could blink. He knows that I mean a great deal to you and doesn’t approve, but he doesn’t plan on interfering either.”

“Good,” Harry retorted, coming to stand in front of him and lightly grip Sirius’ arms in his hands. “I would be most displeased if he had even thought to try.”

Sirius wrested on of his arms free and tugged Harry sharply against him, bending the other’s head back and fiercely devouring the other’s mouth. Harry was _his_ and he was glad the other knew it. Stolen moments like this were all they were going to get until they brought down the wards to the school.

They parted, eventually, Sirius privately smirking at the kiss-bruised appearance of Harry’s mouth. The other just rolled his eyes, knowing what he was thinking of. _Prat._ While Sirius had every capability of being a gentleman and doing the pureblood ‘courtly’ manners, this was more him. The dark, possessive side that made sure his partner _knew_ who they belonged to.

They walked slowly back through the forest, neither man worried in the slightest about being attacked by any of the creatures that resided there. They were the darkest beings in the Forbidden Forest. Suddenly Harry smirked, let go of Sirius’ hand and _changed._

In front of Sirius was a creature that would cause most of the Light wizards to foul their pants, one of the darkest creatures known to the magical world. A sleek, growling black direwolf with glowing red eyes and fangs half the length of Sirius’ hand. Also known as hellhounds, direwolves were nearly extinct thanks to persecution by Light wizards. Their claws were tipped in a slow-acting poison that burned through the body more painfully than a Cruciatus curse. The only distinctive mark on the creature was a small smattering of white on it’s head near the left ear, pricked and alert to the slightest of noise.

Sirius gave an answering dark laugh, stepped back and shifted into his massive Grim. The direwolf was slightly smaller, not that it mattered in the long run. While his Animagus was a death omen_,_ Harry’s was literal _death_ to anyone that crossed his path, animal or human. The slender, lethal creature stepped forward, waved it’s long tail with distinctive fur-spikes blended in and let out one of the strange chittering growl-bark sounds it was known for. The other was a mournful-sounding howl the creature gave when excited, the direwolf having inspired the myth of the terror-inducing cŵn annwn.

Sirius bounded off, followed by the other eagerly. They set out to enjoy the rest of the night, putting off returning to the school and their dreaded glamours as long as possible. For now, the night was theirs. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is one of two chapters that inspired this fic, and the rating. It's not horribly gory but it is very dramatic and more than a bit violent. If this sounds like something you'd rather avoid, skip to the end of the chapter. I've added a note that summarizes what happens.
> 
> Sirius and Harry punish a traitor. CHARACTER DEATH(S). 6,000+ words.

Over the next couple of weeks, Harry had been creeping out at night under Disillusionment Charms, carefully setting up his plans for dealing with the traitor. At the same time, he made sure his attendance record for his classes and his behavior in said classes was impeccable. He was making it impossible for them to even _contemplate_ him being involved in anything nefarious. He knew Sirius was doing the same, helping in all of the Defense classes instead of just a few, taking on some students for extra work.

They weren’t being suspected by anyone, Theo was keeping a close ear to the ground for any murmurs of discontent from the students or staff regarding them both. With a vow of silence in place, Harry had informed him who Professor Zrada really was, after making sure the other had sufficient Occlumency shields in place to keep out both their Head of House and the Headmaster of the school. Theodore Nott had been very surprised to realize that there were not just one but _two_ Inner Circle members in the school.

Of course, Draco was a constant voice of discontent with Harry’s presence, but he was careful not to say anything in his hearing range after his last _lesson._ Nott was taking great amusement out of his frustrated and childish behavior. Harry knew the Dark Lord would be very displeased with the Malfoy heir if he knew, but Harry hadn’t mentioned anything about Draco’s behavior to the elder wizard. Draco was his problem; _he_ would deal with it.

He sometimes idly wondered how horrified and enraged the brat would be if he knew that Harry was the Dark Lord’s heir. He looked forward to the reactions the day that knowledge became known to all of the Dark Lord’s followers, not just himself and Sirius. It had not affected his daily life much, but he knew once they were out of the school his expectations would be exceptionally high. Harry looked forward to it. Coming back here hadn’t been anything he personally wanted to do, but it had been _requested_ of him.

Truthfully, the most difficult part of his plan had been brewing the three necessary potions, one mild and two that were decidedly _not._ In fact, brewing the last two, if he were caught, would send him straight back to Azkaban prison. The recipes were found in a book in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. It had been ridiculously easy for him to sneak in there one night under Disillusionment Charm and a powerful Notice-Me-Not. With his abilities to sense magical tendrils and his proficiency with wandless, he’d easily cut the wards and special spells on the book he needed.

_Moste Potent Potions. _The irony had not been lost on him. The very book he and his so-called _friends_ had been required to check out in order to brew the highly regulated Polyjuice Potion. That was only one of the potions in this massive old tome. Compared to the nature of some others, it was by far the most benevolent of them. He had no intention of returning it to the school library, it was currently in a very secret compartment of his trunk, which only opened to Parseltongue. Hopefully it’s absence wouldn’t be noticed until the end of the term, or at least until after the holidays.

He stared at the three vials, smiling. The expression was of such sheer malevolence it would have sent anyone in the room with him recoiling. They were ready. And just in time, if he said so himself.

* * *

Samhain that year dawn overcast and chilly. Strolling into the lower levels of the school, Sirius resisted the urge to smile. While some would call the weather ominous, he found it fitting. Students hurried by him, chattering excitedly about the feast that night and the decorations for ‘Halloween’. He resisted a sneer with effort. Dumbledore and the Board of Governors had been bending themselves over backwards to please the Muggleborns entering Hogwarts. Doing away with the mandatory one semester Wizarding Culture classes had been the first part.

Slowly over the years the wizarding form of religion that celebrated the important rites and blessed Nimue for the gift of Magic had been pushed to the back as well. Samhain, Yule and the other holidays had been renamed, rites and rituals such as Declarations and Coming of Age hushed. The purebloods and half-bloods who grew up with it were rightly offended, they were being shown they were worth less in the Headmaster’s eyes. In the eyes of the adults who were supposed to oversee their education.

Reaching a specific door, he rapped on it smartly with his knuckles, controlling his disdain towards the inhabitant with effort. With a curt reply he opened the door, revealing Severus Snape standing behind one of his precious cauldrons, greasy hair falling over his shoulder and bangs into his sallow-complexioned features. Sirius leaned against the doorframe, waiting patiently for the other to acknowledge his presence. Normally he wouldn’t have bothered with catering to the git’s sense of self-importance, but he could be nice. The man in front of him was unaware his life could be numbered in hours now, after all. The knowledge gave him a certain sort of otherworldly patience towards his childhood nemesis’ posturing.

Severus finally deigned to look up, not even bothering to hide his sneer as he saw ‘Zrada’ waiting for him. “Finally decided to visit the lower levels and grace them with your presence, Zrada?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Sirius answered pleasantly, watching Severus’ fingers twitch in response. “I’m uncertain why you’ve chosen such a posture towards me, we’ve hardly interacted after all.”

It was true, Sirius could hardly be bothered to speak with Severus normally. They only interacted in teacher’s meetings and he made sure his behavior was impeccable, an elegant foil to Severus’ bad-tempered spite. He’d already been complimented on his control and composure by a couple of the teachers. Severus was one of Dumbledore’s favorites, which meant he got away with a _mountain_ of bad behavior and poor teaching techniques. It had not endeared him to any of the long-term staff.

“I’m only here to offer to bring the were his potion. I’m aware you’re quite busy with the influx of colds Poppy Pomphrey has in the hospital wing. I may not enjoy working with him, but I can be bothered to bring him his dose since you’re otherwise engaged.”

Severus speared him with sharp black eyes. Sirius had never made an effort to hide his dislike of Lupin, indeed sometimes it bordered on revealing how much he actually _hated_ the other. It was a tick in his favor at the moment, backing up his bored, disdainful little speech to Severus. He felt a brief probe at his Occlumency shields, resisting the urge to forcefully eject the other. Instead he made sure his thoughts backed up his words, leaving judicious snippets of his stiff conversations and interactions with Lupin available.

The other retreated, considered him a moment longer and said, “Very well.”

A plain goblet was retrieved from a cabinet and a portion of a shimmering green potion was poured in. “This needs to be consumed warm,” Severus instructed curtly.

Sirius took the goblet and started to leave. He paused just inside the doorway and said, “By the way, Severus Snape, if I ever catch you in my mind again, you _will _regret it.”

He left, ignoring the slightly surprised, rattled potions master behind him.

With careful use of one shortcut he remembered, Sirius was back outside the Defense classroom in a few moments. He opened the door, staring at the empty classroom carefully. Once he was certain Lupin was in the office at the back of the room, he removed a small vial from his pocket, passed to him with the utmost discretion in the hallways by Harry earlier.

Opening the tiny vial, he poured the entire contents into the goblet, stirring it with a transfigured rod before tossing the rod into the fireplace. The potion had momentarily turned a brighter silver-green color before swirling back to a muddy green shade. Harry had assured him that there was no difference in taste or texture. There would be nothing to give away that the potion had been altered.

He entered the office, gaining a startled glance from the sole resident at his presence. “Severus Snape is busy brewing potions for the infirmary, he requested I bring this to you,” he said curtly, setting the goblet on the desk.

“Thank you,” Remus said quietly, not holding eye contact with him for longer than a few moments.

Instead of replying or watching the other consume the goblet, Sirius moved towards the wall. Studying the few articles Remus had pinned there on Defense, he let his eyes wander. He froze, staring. There was a photo pinned as well, one with slightly ragged edges and a bit of yellowing due to age. Sirius remained very still, doing his best to control his boiling rage. It was a picture of the Marauders from their Hogwarts years. Sirius was second from left, James Potter’s arm wrapped around his shoulders. On his other side was the real traitor, the now dead Peter Pettigrew. Remus was on the far right, less scarred than he was now due his transformations.

The sheer _sentimentality _of it set his teeth on edge. It was clearly in pride of place now that he looked at the board as a whole, planted right in the center. Failed by the inadequate planning of James Potter and betrayed by both Peter _and_ Remus… the wolf had no right to put that picture there, like he had some sort of claim on the memories of the Marauders. Viciously Sirius shoved down his rising anger, aware that the wolf behind him would sense the change in his heartrate and wonder why.

He turned his head enough to notice the empty, still smoking goblet. A small ribbon of sadistic satisfaction wormed through him at the sight. Turning back to the photograph, he said, “Why, this looks like Peter Pettigrew. The dead man from the papers a few weeks back. Did you know him?”

Looking at the rather pale figure sitting at the desk, Sirius resisted a smirk with effort. Hands clenched on the edge of the desk; Remus looked like he’d rather be having _any_ other conversation than the one they were having now.

“I did, he was one of my friends, along with Sirius Black and James Potter.”

Sirius flicked his eyes back to the photo and leaned back against the shelf behind him. “It was quite a shock to see Peter Pettigrew’s picture in the paper. One of the things I recall Black being imprisoned for was murdering him. Looks like he cut the infamous finger off himself as well. I wonder how Black must feel, after all he was imprisoned for life for something he probably didn’t do.”

The blatant, pained guilt in Remus’ eyes caused a sense of satisfaction to run through Sirius. The other had no right to look so pained, after all he’d turned his back on Sirius just like the rest of them. He should have known better… but Sirius was on the cusp of exacting his revenge for that little detail. Digging the proverbial knife a little deeper he said,

“Did you believe he’d been the one to betray the Potter family and kill all those people?”

Remus visibly winced. “I did.”

Sirius hummed. “I imagine that must have hurt him worst of all, after all you were one of his best friends.”

“It is not your place to judge me,” Remus suddenly snapped. “I suggest you find something else to do if all I am here for is your source of amusement.”

Sirius simply shrugged and left the office. After all, he’d already done the damage he wanted to do. He couldn’t really say anything else without giving himself away. Harry would _murder _him if he denied the other his fun.

**

The Halloween feast was as sumptuous as ever. Live bats fluttered above their heads, restrained to a safe distance via charm work by Filius Flitwick, not that the students were aware of it. Several hundred floating candles provided lighting in shades of orange, red and yellow. Pumpkins carved with appropriately spooky faces floated amongst the candles. Every table was covered with an absurd amount of candy, to Severus’ eyes at least.

Even the weather appeared to be joining in, a massive thunderstorm lighting the enchanted ceiling with flashes of lightning on occasion. It was a torrential downpour outside; he was _quite _glad he hadn’t had the pleasure of escorting students back from Hogsmeade this evening. It had taken several layers of spellwork to dry off a drenched Hagrid and Pomona Sprout, the two unlucky chaperones chosen. If he had been one of those unfortunate souls, he would have taken his meal in his quarters. No amount of cajoling by Albus would have convinced him otherwise.

But perhaps that would have been the better option he thought, wrinkling his nose slightly at the cacophony of noise as a horde of teens and pre-teens hyped themselves up on a grandiose amount of sugar. He discreetly withdrew his wand and flicked it near his goblet of wine, testing the drink. Albus would disapprove if he knew Severus tested his drink and food here at the school, but he hadn’t survived his spying career for so long on sheer luck.

His wand-tip lit up a soft red. Raising an eyebrow, he performed another careful flick, neutralizing the substance and getting a report back. A mid-level threat, identified as a variant of a Cheering Potion. He snorted. Albus’ meddling no doubt, trying to keep him from appearing too ‘dour’. Satisfied, he put away his wand. There was nothing else in the goblet besides a fine red wine, the scan would have picked it up.

He drank it all at leisure, awaiting the moment Dumbledore closed the feast and he could retreat to his quarters to mourn in private. He hadn’t truly celebrated Halloween since the fateful night he’d lost his life-long love, Lily. Sure she’d married Potter, but that was because of his own actions. He would have eventually convinced her of his remorse and the depth of his feelings, he was certain of it. To be deprived of the chance because of her spawn with Potter…

Finally Albus stood, dismissing the students. Severus stood and departed with a curt nod to the Headmaster, confident in his Prefects’ abilities to escort the Slytherins back to their common room. He departed the Great Hall with a speed that would have surprised anyone watching him, still managing to maintain a certain dignity and poise in his retreat. He wasn’t an uncivilized oaf, nor would he ever act the part of one.

Reaching his private quarters, he shut the door and sank onto his couch in front of the fireplace with a sigh of relief. He stood to retrieve a bottle of whiskey, sitting down again after retrieving said bottle and a stout tumbler. An hour or so had passed, according to his clock, when he noticed the first sign something was off. There was a tingling in his fingers. He shook out his hands, reaching forward to grab his tumbler of whiskey. The glass was inches from his lips when it slid through his fingers and shattered on the floor.

Severus’ eyes widened in shock. He hadn’t dropped a glass in years. He stared at the carpet in front of him with the spreading stain of alcohol. The numbness had spread up his arms; when he made a panicked attempt to stand his body refused to comply. _How had he missed this? Where had it been…_ He let out a soft groan in realization. As his vision began to go fuzzy, he was aware of the door to his chambers opening. The last thing he saw before succumbing to unconsciousness was long, whitish hair. 

* * *

Harry stood in the clearing he’d prepared for this moment, shivering in anticipation. The torrential downpour around them was an unexpected bonus, it meant no sneaking students that might offer an alternative course of events. Nott knew to cover for him, saying that he’d been in the dorms sleeping the entire night. He’d attended the feast in the Great Hall, watching with a smirk of satisfaction as Severus Snape drank his tainted goblet down. The man would have no clue what was going to happen.

He resisted the urge to laugh, staring down at the figure in front of him. It had been far too easy to watch Lupin on the Marauder’s Map and follow him into the secret passageway that lead to the Shrieking Shack. In the passageway, where it was cramped and difficult to see, it had been far too easy to hit the man in the back of the head with a Stunner. Lupin wasn’t going to remember the majority of what happened tonight, Harry would enjoy _enlightening _him.

In their time in Azkaban, sitting in adjacent cells, Sirius had told Harry many stories about his time at Hogwarts. One of those that he’d mentioned with a sort of regretful anger was the time he’d convinced a truly naïve Severus Snape to go into the Whomping Willow on a full moon. At the time the action had horrified him, once he realized that if Lupin had been caught infecting another student he would have been expelled and likely executed.

Harry intended to recreate that scenario, only in a protected clearing with anti-Apparition wards and protections on himself and Sirius. Severus Snape was about to meet Moony again, though it would not go to his favor this time. It was a _fitting_ end to a man who had felt himself so superior to others, one who had belittled a child because he fancied himself in love with their dead mother. A traitor, who had sworn loyalty to a Dark Lord only to get cold feet and run to Dumbledore, of all people.

A whisper of sound reached his ears and his head snapped up, hands curling into fists as he prepared his wandless magic for defense. Only to relax when Sirius strolled into the clearing, levitating an unconscious Severus Snape behind him. The man was already soaking wet due to the downpour, convenient charms keeping Sirius and Harry both dry and warm. Neither had their glamours in play, wanting the traitor to see them both and realize how badly he’d messed up.

Harry stepped forward, wrapping a pair of cuffs around the prone man’s wrists. He cut across his palm with little concern, smearing his blood across both cuffs. While Sirius cancelled his spell, letting the unconscious man drop a few feet to the forest floor, he healed his palms with careless ease. A flick of his finger summoned all of the objects Snape had on his person, including his wand and a small string that held tiny Potions bottles, those stable enough to have magic performed on them.

There were also a couple of knives, which earned an elated noise from Harry as he examined them with slow, loving fingers before sliding them into place on his belt. They would make fine additions to his arsenal. Sirius watched him with tolerant amusement, fond affection in his dark grey eyes. He stared at Lupin’s unconscious form with hate scrawled across his features. Harry’s eyes narrowed.

He stepped forward, taking the other’s arm his hand. “Patience, my love. I know you want him to pay for his betrayal. He will, I assure you. You know our plan, it’s ultimate end. Be patient, revenge is sweetest when done at it’s necessary pace.”

He stood up on his tiptoes so that he could wrap his fingers in Sirius’ hair and drag him into an aggressive kiss. The other only let him dominate the action for a few moments before making a deep, almost growling noise and exerting control. They finally parted, both panting for breath. It curled through the air in small foggy clouds, the temperature dropping sharply the closer they got to midnight.

Holding Severus’ wand in his hand, making sure the man’s temporary bonds were secure, he whispered, “_Enervate.”_

Severus woke slowly, groggily. The potion Harry had used to knock him out wouldn’t leave his system for another hour or so, leaving him with slowed reflexes. Black eyes finally focused and landed on the pair of them, a snarl leaving his lips.

“You both are going to suffer at the Dark Lord’s hands when he hears of this. I am essential to his plans, unlike _you._”

Sirius laughed, the sound dark and humorless. A slight shiver wracked Snape’s body, though the man himself would no doubt try and say it was because of the cold.

“You’re so uninformed it’s _amusing,_ Snivellus. We’re here because of the Dark Lord. We’ve been here for months. Surely you can use that vaunted intellect and guess what I’m implying?”

Harry savored the flash of anger in the man’s eyes from the detested name. Gleefully, he watched the dawning horrified comprehension on the sallow face. “Rigel Zrada and Seth Griffin,” he murmured. “How did we miss it?”

“The same way your precious Albus has missed a lot of things, Severus Snape,” Harry said coolly. “Let me enlighten you. I didn’t kill the Weasley chit, though I do plan on killing a lot of her ungrateful family. Sirius didn’t kill Peter Pettigrew nor betray my parents, that was the rat. What you saw at our Initiation? That was just payback. As for the Dark Lord being angry with us, it’s quite to the contrary. He’s furious with _you._”

“Why would he be?” Severus scoffed, thoughts almost visibly whirling through his eyes as he considered. “I’ve been one of his loyal followers since even before you were born, _boy._ Even if he was, I doubt he gave you permission to do this, he doesn’t like people denying him his fun.”

“Oh, he’s furious with you all right, _Snivellus,_” Sirius said lazily. “I found the evidence we needed to prove you a traitor. Why do you think you haven’t been called the past two meetings? Harry here promised him quite the show with your death.”

“_Liar,”_ Severus snarled, hands clenched into fists.

With utter nonchalance, Sirius pulled back his hand and sent it flying. _Crack!_ Blood poured from Severus’ broken nose, the other reeling back in pain. Eyes watering, trembling more pronounced, the other warily watched him.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years,” Sirius said with a smirk. “You may not realize it, but I highly _detest_ people calling me a liar. Especially after spending sixteen years in prison for something I didn’t do.”

“Enough,” Harry said coldly, drawing both of their attention. “Your Lord was both judge and jury, you are guilty of betraying his confidence. All he needed was your memory of our Initiation from Dumbledore’s office, the man has a little habit of keeping things that aren’t his. Of course, you probably clearly recall that he wanted our Initiation as Inner Circle to stay under the radar. But that doesn’t matter to you.”

“Why did you join him? He killed your parents, your _mother,”_ Severus said, voice wavering.

“Oh please,” Harry rolled his eyes, “change the record, Snape. Are you _still_ lusting after a dead woman, sixteen years later? Just a little creepy and pathetic, as was your treatment of a _child_ because of your own actions.”

Before Severus could say anything else, he took the hickory wand in both hands and forcefully snapped the wand. The cry of distress and pain from the wizard was satisfactory, to say the least.

“We are your executioners, Severus Snape,” Harry said softly, a malicious smile curling his lips. “You ask on whose authority we are doing this? Your Lord of course, and that of his Heir.”

Severus opened his mouth to retort, then took in the expression on Harry’s face. He sucked in a breath and said, “You?”

“Well that was quick,” Harry mused. “Perhaps you are worthy of some praise for your intelligence after all. Yes, I am the Dark Lord’s heir. We share certain similarities, plus Dumbledore’s vaunted _prophecy_ could be interpreted more than one way if you so choose.”

“But not much,” Sirius smirked, interrupting the angry retort Severus had been about to make, “otherwise he would have noticed the poison masked by the Cheering Potion. Your own arrogance helping to bring about your end, how delightfully _ironic._”

Severus then seemed to finally notice the other person with them, perhaps thanks to the increased amount of trembling in Lupin’s limbs as midnight approached. The increased pallor in his face and trembling in his fingers was delightful to watch. “Your idea, I take it Black.”

“Actually, it was Harry’s, but I most certainly approve,” Sirius said lazily.

“Flawed as ever,” Severus managed to sneer. “He’s on the Wolfsbane Potion, it makes him a tame little _dog_.”

“Normally it does,” Harry agreed. A nasty smirk crossed his face. “But not tonight. When you gave Sirius his last dose of the potion this afternoon, he added a little something to it. It doesn’t have a name, but I’m sure you know the one I’m talking about. When added to a dose of Wolfsbane Potion on the day of a full moon, it not only negates the potion but violently purges it from the wolf’s system during their transformation. The purging leaves them exceptionally aggressive and unstable because their wolf realizes they were slowly killing themselves. There’s a reason it’s called Wolfs_bane_ after all.”

The ashen expression had returned to Snape’s face during Harry’s explanation. It only seemed to increase when Harry went on to add, “It’s not going to go in your favor this time, I’m afraid. I’ve been preparing this clearing for the past month. There’s complex Notice Me Not, Anti-Apparition and boundary wards around a selected space in the clearing. I’ve deprived you of your wand and all your other surprises and you may notice more of my handiwork on your wrists.”

Severus’ black eyes widened in horror at the bands, the man actually trying to physically pry them off. Harry and Sirius watched him struggle for a few minutes in amusement, but the lingering poison in his system tired him out easily. When he sat there, limply staring at the bands, Harry smirked.

“Did you really think I would do such shoddy work that you would be able to _pull them off?_ No, they’re bound to your wrists with my blood, only I can remove them. They bind all of your magical core to inside your body, restricting you as if you were born a Squib. If you want any chance to live, you’re going to have to lower yourself to Muggle means and _run._ Not that you’re doing anything but prolonging the inevitable.”

As the other’s shaking increased, Severus finally managed to pull himself to his feet. A look of utter helpless rage crossed his features and he took a desperate lunge at Harry. Harry knocked him back easily with an under-powered _protego,_ slicing his hand at an angle as he did so. Severus cried out, stumbling backwards. Blood spilled rapidly from the back of his right leg, where Harry’s Cutting Curse had sliced his hamstring.

He took off at a limping run, mocking laughter following him into the tree line. Behind him, Harry stopped Sirius from following. “Let our second party have some fun,” he said softly. “The _traitor _can’t get away, I assure you.”

Both avidly watched the painful transformation from man to wolf occur in front of them. Thanks to protective wards on them both plus the sheer maliciousness of Harry’s subconscious Animagus, the other creature didn’t make an attempt to attack them. The transformation process had been painful and bloody, the wolf-like creature had several small cuts from its own claws or bone breaking through skin. It panted heavily before standing, nostrils flaring.

Sirius suddenly gave a dark chuckle. “Now I know why you let me punch him and then cut the traitor’s hamstring. It gives the wolfie a blood trail to follow.”

Harry’s acid-green eyes were full of a malicious pleasure as he followed the wolf, suddenly racing out of the clearing with a howl of delight. It sensed prey and followed the trail with unbridled eagerness. Flicking a look at Sirius, Harry transformed into his direwolf and raced after, followed by an eager Grim. The werewolf ahead of them was fast, but not as fast as they were. It was slowed by years of poison, years of weakened instincts.

Harry skidded to a halt, followed by Sirius. They stayed in form, watching for a few moments to make sure they’d spotted Severus. Harry changed back, eagerly finding the man again. He’d reached the edge of Harry’s wards and made a desperate attempt to subvert them with blood, a trickling cut on his palm bearing evidence. It hadn’t worked, and the Potions Master turned, putting his back to the glowing ward.

A last desperate attempt at bravery, one Harry almost admired. His only chance now would be to kneel in front of the Alpha werewolf approaching him, showing submission. Even if he had the werewolf involved was too far gone to acknowledge the instincts that would rear up at the move. Not that the too-proud man in front of them would ever bow a head or bend his knees to a creature.

The massive silvery creature broke through the tree line and halted, skidding on long legs. Thanks to his Animagus form, Harry could read the other’s posture as easily as he could a human. This wasn’t an attempt at mercy, it was a predator savoring their triumph, playing with their meal. It paced back and forth a little, slavering maw open to reveal dagger-sharp fangs and infectious saliva drooling in ropes from the lower jaw. A nightmare made solid, that’s what werewolves represented to most of wizard kind.

Back legs coiled and the creature launched forward, a scream of pure terror renting the air. Severus fell back, colliding against the ward. The werewolf followed, jaws closing around his throat with a satisfying _crunch. _Blood spurted from the ruined throat, the dying wizard making one last desperate attempt to stab the creature with the sharper point of a broken branch.

With a contemptuous twist of its head, the wolf snapped the fragile neck gripped in its vise-like jaws. Smirking, Harry turned to Sirius. “Let him enjoy his meal, then we’ll stun him.”

Sirius merely gave a vicious grin in response, turning his head back to watch the gory scene for a moment longer.

* * *

When Remus Lupin awoke after the full moon, it was to the sensation there was something very wrong. He wasn’t in his office, nor the Shrieking Shack. He was in a small brick room with a slab of stone for a bed, one that he’d been laying on until a moment ago. He was wearing a set of trousers and shirt in dark gray. The most unsettling thing? The _bars_ keeping him in the room. Hands shaking, he stood, looking around as he tried to remember what had happened the previous night. It was always a little foggy, but normally he could remember something, _anything._

A sound alerted him he was no longer alone and he looked up. In front of him was a stranger, dressed in the uniform of a Ministry guard. Heart hammering, throat dry, he said, “W-what happened? Why am I here?”

The man merely sneered at him. “You may speak with him, but only for a few minutes,” the guard said.

Then he left. Another figure, standing in the shadows, strolled forward. It was Rigel Zrada, of all people. “W-why are you here? Of all people, why _you?”_

“Don’t you want to know what happened, what you did?” Zrada said coldly.

“I didn’t do _anything,_” Remus said desperately. “I take the Wolfsbane Potion, I was supposed to spend the night in the Shrieking Sh-“ Remus stuttered to a stop, eyes widening. He’d taken the tunnel to the Shack since it was pouring outside. He’d been in the tunnel and…

“Someone stunned me,” he said, hoarsely. “Whatever I did, it wasn’t my fault, Zrada.”

“Oh, it most certainly was, _Lupin._ I found you, or rather the creature you become. I caught you red-handed.”

“W-what happened?”

Zrada sneered. “Your wolf killed the Potions Master, Severus Snape. I was too late to stop you, but at least his remains were identifiable.”

Remus paled, heart racing. He’d _killed _Severus! He felt sick, his hands were shaking. He’d always lived with this as his ultimate fear, that he would kill someone as a result of his transformations. But the Wolfsbane was supposed to stop that!

“W-what do you mean, his remains were identifiable?” Remus whispered.

“What do you think I mean? You woke up and your wolf is _sated._”

As the meaning of Zrada’s words hit him, Remus crashed to his knees and vomited. He was unable to stop until the only thing coming up was bile. Shaking, he curled up in a corner. “I take Wolfsbane, Zrada. You brought the last dose for the month to me. Someone stunned me, someone forced me to kill him. You have to believe me!”

“I don’t have to do anything, Lupin. The Aurors tested you went I brought you in, there’s no _trace _of Wolfsbane in your system. It’s embedded in your body from years you’ve taken it, but you’ve been off of it for at least the last month. You _wanted _this, Moony.”

“I never wanted this!” Remus screamed, launching to his feet in sudden fury. “This is what I’ve lived in terror of ever since I was a child. You have no clue, you—” Remus stumbled to a halt. _Moony._ A nickname only his closest friends and the Order of the Phoenix knew about.

“I’ve never told you my nickname from school, Zrada,” Remus said, suspiciously staring at the other.

Zrada laughed, the sound was cold, arrogant. “How does it feel, _Moony? _To be on the other side of the bars screaming your innocence and no one _listens._ No one wants to listen, no one _cares._ Not even someone that should have given a damn about you?”

As he was talking, Zrada’s features began to flicker, as if he were on an ill-tuned television set. Abruptly it faded away completely, revealing a set of features that had been featuring prominently in Remus recent night terrors.

“_Sirius,”_ Remus breathed, shaking. Sirius Black, his former lover, friend and recent escapee, stared back him with the utmost loathing on his proud features. The disgust and rage in his gray eyes made Remus flinch in pain and guilt.

“The only thing I want to know from you, _Lupin,_ is why. Why did you believe them over me? Why did you think I would betray my best friend, all but my brother? You especially, who professed you _loved _me. WHY?!” Sirius bellowed the last word, Remus flinching back from his anger.

“I-I woke up that morning after my transformation and r-read the paper. I saw what you’d d-done, or what we thought you’d done. You were already in Azkaban by the time I woke up. I went to Albus, he told me you’d been the one to betray James and Lily, that the paper was telling the truth. W-we figured you’d d-done it to get back in with your family. You’d been talking to your f-father again…”

“You betrayed me because of my _family?”_ Sirius hissed, his expression twisting in unstable rage. “So, because I’m the son of a ‘Dark’ line and I’m talking to my family, I must be a Death Eater? _For your information,_ Lupin, _I was going to ask my father about proposing to YOU!”_

Remus reeled back from the other’s anger, cowering in the face of it. As the other’s words registered and he realized the depth of his mistake, Remus’ face crumpled. Eyes brimming with tears he said softly, _“_I’m sorry, Sirius. Please, beloved, forgive me. Help me out of this and we can fix this. I know it will take years but—”

Sirius’ cold laughter cut him off. It was incredulous, mirthless and full of anger. “I can’t believe you, Lupin. You really think you can just say you’re sorry and all will be forgiven? Fuck you, Remus. I spent sixteen years in that hellhole waiting for someone to discover the truth and get me out. Now I don’t care. I haven’t ever since you tossed another innocent in there to rot. Or do you really think Harry murdered the Weasley chit?”

Remus paled. “Harry’s innocent as well? But you both joined the Dark Lord…”

“Purely out of revenge on my part, and to protect Harry. He’s worth more than the rest of you _superficial_ people put together.”

Spotting a guard over Sirius’ shoulder, Remus discreetly tried to get his attention. Sirius snorted, drawing his eyes again. The malicious disdain on his face made Remus flinch.

“I don’t think Sirius is impressed by your pathetic attempt to get him captured again, Lupin,” the guard said, walking up to stand casually next to Sirius. Remus’ eyes widened in confusion. “B-but you work for the Ministry… He’s an escapee.”

The illusion of the guard disappeared, revealing poisonous green eyes and a malevolent expression. Remus recoiled, staring in shock at the face he knew, despite having not seen it since infancy. “H-Harry?”

“You’re going to be executed, Lupin. They’ve already decided your fate. Dumbledore will find out about his double-loss in the morning paper along with everyone else, including Severus’ spoiled godson whom I’m enjoying tormenting. Or at least, Seth Griffin is enjoying tormenting.”

“You’re both in the school,” Remus realized with horrified comprehension.

“We are, and as the Dark Lord’s Heir I’m determined to give it to him as a gift. You won’t be alive to see it, though. Such a pity,” Harry tsked.

“W-why have you gone after me? I’ve done nothing to you,” Remus said, bewildered.

“To me, maybe, but to someone I love? You’ve hurt him in _spades,_ Lupin. No, you were a means to an end for me. I wanted Severus to meet Moony again. It went so well, too! The Dark Lord will enjoy the memory. No, the other reason for your inclusion was solely to give you just a _hint_ of the pain you put Sirius through. It will never be enough, but I believe he’s satisfied.”

Sirius gave Harry a dark smirk and purred, “More than satisfied, I assure you.”

Remus’ eyes widened in shock as his former lover dragged Harry into a possessive, slightly aggressive kiss. Sirius smirked at him, saying coldly, “Enjoy your last moments, Lupin. Remember what I said, you’re feeling the pain I felt for the last sixteen years, when you should have believed in me a bit more.”

They walked away, leaving a trembling, horrified Remus Lupin behind. As a parting gift, Harry hit him with a spell, locking his tongue to their identities and pretty much the entire conversation.

* * *

The execution of one Remus John Lupin by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Dangerous Creatures was methodically performed. The accused was dragged out, registration number noted down for strike-off in the Registry upstairs. A pair of Ministry guards pinned down the struggling, terrified man on a slab of metal, heavy-duty chains wrapping over his body across the shoulders, wrists, waist and ankles. Terrified blue-amber eyes sought out the pair standing near the doors, watching with expressions of dark satisfaction. Both wearing a temporary glamour of a pair of guards, Lupin keyed in.

A witch approached, holding a small vial from which she was filling a syringe attached to a very sharp needle. The vial was full of a concoction made mostly of liquid silver. It was a swift, if painful way to die. With the precision of long-time practice, she stabbed the needle sharply into the heart of the accused and depressed the plunger, removing it and stepping back.

There was always a fair amount of violent thrashing involved as the were’s body reacted to being injected with a fatally allergic dose of silver. Ironically it only sped up the approaching death, the increased heart rate pumping the silver-laced blood through the body faster. Eventually the blue-amber eyes went pure black and the body stilled. A wave of a wand and they noted the time of death on the official execution slip. The corpse was then removed and sent to either a living family member, or, as in the case of this individual, to be interred in an unmarked grave somewhere outside London.

Harry slid his hand into Sirius’ and led the way back outside the Ministry, the pair Apparating back to the clearing. Sirius laughed and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, kissing him deeply. That could not have gone better than he ever hoped for. He was satisfied, his last demon put to rest. Now he would focus on their future, their cause. Now, he would focus on Harry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you skipped the chapter, here's the gist.  
Harry has set up a special clearing with a bunch of wards to prevent escape and notice. He then brews three potions, one of which goes to Remus, the other two go to Severus.  
The potions for Severus are a Cheering one, which he notices and blames on Albus. He doesn't scan his drink again, thus not noticing the paralysis poison the cheering potion masked. He passes out in his private quarters after the Halloween feast.  
He wakes up with Harry and Sirius watching him in the clearing. They tell him they know he's a traitor and Sirius punches him in the face, breaking his nose. He then notices Remus and tells them with his usual arrogance that it won't work since he takes the Wolfsbane.  
However, Sirius gave Remus his last dose of the potion for the month and it was laced with a potion that negates the dose and violently purges it from the wolf's system. Severus gets up, tries to attack Harry, who cuts his right hamstring with a Cutting Curse. He attempts to run away.  
The wolf (Remus) transforms and follows him, tearing out his throat at the edge of the wards Harry has set up. They let Remus eat some of Severus before stunning him.  
Remus wakes up at the Ministry, horrified. Sirius as Zrada tells him what he's done, before revealing himself. He demands to know why Remus had turned on him, believing him guilty. Remus says it was because of his family. Sirius tells Remus he was innocent, that it was really Peter. He also says it no longer matters, because they put Harry in there innocent as well.  
Harry reveals himself, they torment Remus a bit and then leave, Harry casts a spell so he can't reveal them. They witness Remus' Ministry execution by silver poisoning before leaving to go back to Hogwarts. Sirius is happier now that Remus is dealt with and feels he can focus on Harry and their future.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is short, but I wanted to get something out. Writer's block hit hard along with the schoolwork and work-related exhaustion. The reaction to the last chapter, at least part of it.

Albus Dumbledore sat at his place at the Head table of Hogwarts, cautiously sipping his morning tea. He had been unable to shake a growing feeling of dread the entire morning, too many years of paranoia kicking in perhaps. He would have to do something to relax this afternoon, Merlin forbid he end up like Alastor. He shuddered at little internally at the very idea. He had not truly been at ease ever since his copy of the official Prophecy had shattered before his eyes.

He had put _years_ of work into it, years of careful manipulations and shaping generations of wizards to do what he wanted. Then his first candidate for the Prophecy had committed murder at twelve, outdoing even Tom’s dark beginnings. He hadn’t been able to understand _why_ Harry Potter would have done such a thing, he’d been so careful to shape the boy into a malleable tool, one who cared very little for his own safety. Neville had been his backup only, the dread he’d felt when he realized he would have to shape that boy, that plant-loving, shy, mediocre wizard into his hero…

He took another sip of his tea, relaxing a little as he spotted his new trainee sitting at the Gryffindor table eating his breakfast. Severus was absent, perhaps he’d been called last night? So was Remus, but last night had been the full moon. His substitute Zrada was sitting in his customary spot, drinking his tea with a casual grace that belied his pureblood heritage. Dumbledore had been hoping to recruit him for the Order of the Phoenix, but his views were appallingly in line with those of Tom’s followers, so he had regretfully nixed that idea.

The rush of wings announced the arrival of the morning paper, Albus cheerfully looking forward to the morning news and the delivery of his delightful puzzles. It took up most of his morning to complete them, far more entertaining than the ever-growing stack of papers threatening to topple over if not for a reinforcement charm.

Reaching out to take his paper, Albus thus missed the shocked paling of many of the staff’s faces as well as the sudden breakout of tears amongst the students. Thankfully, he also missed the quick, smug expression on one student’s face as he studied the expressions of his fellows. In fact, the only person that noticed that student was a particular instructor, whose brief, vicious smile was missed in turn.

When the headline that caused this dramatic reaction caught his eye, Albus reached out and set his teacup down, careful to not let his hands shake. If this pattern kept up, he would begin taking his morning tea and paper in his office!

**Murder at Hogwarts! Tenured Professor killed by dangerous creature! What was the Headmaster thinking? Board of Education Speaks!**

_Ministry of Magic, London – It is the shocking and appalling duty of this reporter to inform the British wizarding public that two Professors at Hogwarts are now deceased. Last night was a full moon, an unextraordinary occurance that happens once per month. Or at least, to most it is nothing to note. But Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, had appointed this term a werewolf as an instructor. **Remus J. Lupin,**_ _who had taught one previous term four years ago. The Headmaster assured the Board of Governors that he would be safe to employ at the school, who only agreed with the insistence that he have a substitute Professor for the two days prior and after the full moon._

_But, ladies and gentlewizards, even the extremely competent **Rigel Zrada **could not prevent what happened last night. He described it in his own words for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, “I have a habit of walking the grounds every evening before I turn in for the night. I’m a fully-trained wizard and have no fear of the Forbidden Forest, so when I heard some noise last night I went into the Forest to see what was happening.”_

_“I saw the werewolf from some ways off, it was crouched over something, a wild animal perhaps. Using my superior education and training I was able to stun the creature and restrain it. What I saw was a grisly sight indeed. The werewolf was crouched over not an animal, but a human body. We were lucky the identity of the wolf’s victim was identifiable.”_

_The werewolf’s victim? Tenured Professor of Potions and Head of Slytherin House, **Severus Tobias Snape.** Upon arrival at the Ministry, an Auror confirmed that Severus Snape had died from having his throat torn out by a type of animal, matching bite marks on the body to that of the transformed Werewolf. Severus Snape has taught at Hogwarts since his early twenties, we are sure there are many current and former students that will be mourning his loss._

_The Werewolf was condemned by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, investigative spellwork finding that not only was one Remus Lupin the one who killed Severus Snape, but that there was no evidence whatsoever of the Wolfsbane Potion in his system. This appalling lack of control has many questioning how the Headmaster could declare such a dangerous being ‘safe’._

_When asked for a comment, the Board of Governors had this to say, “We are disturbed by the lack of controls the Headmaster had in place for this dangerous individual. We are lucky that the individual outside that night was one as competent as Rigel Zrada and not another student, otherwise this would be a double tragedy. A full investigation is going to be conducted into the management and handling of school affairs.”_

_Remus Lupin was executed by the Department for the death of Severus Snape, as is the punishment outlined by the Werewolf Registration Act. His remains were interred in an unmarked grave outside of London. Severus Snape’s remains were cremated and as he has no spouse or surviving children, his affairs will be settled through a will at Gringotts, if he had one in place._

Finally looking up and registering the reaction of the students and staff, Albus stood up and clapped his hands, calling for silence. “Students, due to this unexpected tragedy, classes are cancelled for today. Please, when reading this article, remember that we have lost two extraordinary individuals the previous night, not just one.”

It did not bode well for his words that many of the students were giving him cold, angry looks.

“Emergency staff meeting, now,” Albus said curtly. “The trophy room will suffice.”

The Professors all stood and walked out of the Great Hall, heading into the trophy room just behind the table. Once inside, Albus whirled to face the impassive Zrada and said, “Why was I not informed when this happened, as is my right as Headmaster?”

“You have a propensity for covering things up, Headmaster. I’ve spoken to students current and former. I heard about the _Willow incident._” Zrada’s expression was pointedly condemning. “I was not going to inform you and let you cover it up or whatever would have been your reaction. That _creature_ murdered one of your Professors and his remains were almost unidentifiable.”

Several other Professors paled more at the reminder. “How are we going to handle this?” Professor Sprout asked worriedly. “The Slytherins were only closest to Severus, they won’t want to approach us. And the Malfoy boy is his godson, someone should speak with him.”

“Professor Sinastra, will you take over as a temporary Head for Slytherin House? I have another in mind since we will need a Potions professor, but it will be a few days before I can recruit him.”

Behind Albus’ back, someone gave a snort of disbelief. He was certain it was Minerva and ignored her. She had never been fond of Horace and doubted he would ever want to come back. She underestimated Albus’ power of desperate persuasion and manipulation.

“That paper mentioned something else that I find suspicious, Albus,” Filius spoke up, his voice stern. “It said there was _no trace _of Wolfsbane in Lupin’s system. I thought you had Severus making that for him monthly!”

“I did,” Albus refuted calmly, not displaying his irritation at being questioned. “Severus wasn’t pleased to add another thing to his workload, but he assured me he would make it.”

“I was there several times when it was delivered to Lupin,” Zrada added curtly. “The goblet was there, but quite obviously no one bothered to make sure he drank the damn thing.”

“What a mess,” The so-far quiet Poppy said softly, sighing. There were tears in her eyes, she had been fond of both the men involved, having cared for them since their schooling years.

“Heads of Houses, please be sure to speak to your students collectively at some point today. They will be distraught that something occurred on the grounds like this. Please do remind them that their safety has always been the utmost priority and the Board of Governors will find it so.”

“Saving face won’t do you much after an incident like this. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an in-school investigation,” Zrada sneered.

Albus waved him off. There would be a very tense conversation with the Board of Governors and the Minister, that would be it. There hadn’t been an investigation into Hogwarts since the death of Myrtle more than fifty years ago. There would be no reason for one now.

He left the trophy room, mind preoccupied with how to handle the upcoming conversation. Behind him, watching the door swing shut, Zrada remarked in an off-hand sort of tone, “I think the Board of Governors is going to enjoy popping his delusional bubble.”

None of the other Professors spoke up in Albus' defense. They all knew that the trouble was just beginning. The only question was, what would the Board of Governors find?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is only a little over 1700 words, but I enjoyed writing it :D  
I don't own Harry Potter.

Voldemort sat in his massive chair of ebony wood, contemplating matters. Around him was the grandness and opulence that were physical evidence of Malfoy arrogance and self-importance. He already knew this of course, knew the minds and inner workings of all of his followers. It was hard to hide the mind from one that could read it as easily as an open book.

Which was why the ability of Severus to subvert and distract his probes was troubling him at the moment. The man had been his for twenty years, how many of those years had he been truly loyal? Had he been loyal at all? His fascination with the Evans girl had puzzled Voldemort certainly, but he had put it to a desire to own the girl, to get one over on a schoolyard bully.

Voldemort rarely ever wondered about the thoughts and actions of his victims, once they were dead and buried, they were no longer his concern. Yet, he had found himself wondering recently on the late Potters, what they would think of their son and his decisions. He knew there was a chance they would accept their sons’ actions, that they would understand that his circumstances dictated his choices. Part of him though, the part that was truly Dark, hoped that they railed and screamed and wailed as their son made his way into Darkness.

He had certainly made part of his stance and his mind clear with the article that splashed across the morning paper. Voldemort considered himself creative with his spells when punishing his followers. He knew arcane spells that would cause exquisite agony in the target, old curses that would have the victim begging for death within moments. But the sheer ingenuity and carnal destruction that was the end of a traitor pleased him greatly. His lips curled into a nasty smirk as he contemplated Albus Dumbledore’s reaction to the same article.

The smirk made many of his companions’ shift nervously in their seats, the rustle of robes the only sound to break the silence. Most of his Inner Circle was already present, waiting for the meeting to begin. They were unused to the lack of impatience their Lord showed as they waited for the last two to arrive. It was far less time than he had waited for Severus on occasion, or even some of the others already present. It would take a great deal for him to be irritated with his Heir.

Sensitive to the ambient magic that surged within the room and his followers, Voldemort was acutely aware of the moment his Heir and his paramour arrived. It was mere moments before they arrived in the grand hall where Voldemort was holding court. His Heir being almost as sensitive to magic as he himself was, if not more so. They both bowed respectfully, greeting him. A small smile curved his lipless mouth as he studied them both with scarlet eyes.

He waved them to their seats without a word, watching in some curiosity as Nagini moved to greet them. :_Hello young one,:_ she hissed at Potter.

_:Hello great one. Has your evening been profitable?:_ Around the table many of Voldemort’s followers stiffened, most having forgotten or not believed the rumor that Potter was a Parselmouth like their Lord.

:_Greatly so, young one. I believe my Master’s is about to be profitable as well. He has been greatly pleased since sun’s rise.:_ Instead of wandering off, Nagini chose to curl around Harry’s shoulders and under his right arm. The other instinctively moved to stroke her massive head, looking relaxed despite the massive size of the snake.

This seemed to rattle his followers more than if Harry had shown the expected fear or distaste for the snake. Fearing Nagini would have put him on their level, made him less imposing. Instead he sat there, the picture of calm as a massive snake that could swallow a man whole demanded her tribute in petting.

Amused at the behavior of his familiar, Voldemort finally spoke. “I was most pleased and impressed when I read this morning’s article in the papers, Harry. You and Sirius promised me that Severus would be dealt with in a public manner, I was pleasantly surprised by the results.”

Harry smirked in response, a cold expression that didn’t touch his glittering eyes. Lucius spoke up, sounding a bit incredulous.

“My Lord, you imply that Potter had permission to execute Severus? I think any of us with students that know about Potter’s contentious behavior and reckless arrogance toward Severus thought that he had simply killed the man out of spite.”

While Voldemort felt a swell of anger at Lucius’ arrogant words, Potter caught his eye from across the table. _Let me deal with him, _his malicious smile said.

Harry laughed softly; the sound absent of any humor. Instead it was full of an insidious anger, a malevolence unmatched that had several of the Inner Circle paling. The sound was not unlike their Lord’s and the similarity was unnerving.

“Like father, like son it seems,” he said finally, looking directly at Lucius. “Contacted your son recently?”

“I have not,” Lucius answered curtly.

“I thought not,” Harry mused, “otherwise he could tell you, from experience, that it is not a wise idea to cross me. Perhaps you would have anyway, it may well be a trait that stems from your misguided sense of superiority.”

Lucius bristled in anger, not even the only one to do so at Harry’s dismissive words and tone. Before he could respond to it, Harry continued.

“I had our Lord’s permission to execute Severus, we proved him to be a traitor. More specifically, he was the spy our Lord suspected but could not pinpoint. Likely any tales of my _arrogance_ or _disrespectful _behavior towards him came from either your son or Severus himself, both of which despise me for reasons that are as trivial as they are petty. I would caution you to think before speaking of me so disrespectfully in the future, I will not be so lenient.”

On the heels of his words Lucius began to scream in agony, his body twitching in familiar convulsions. At first the Death Eaters looked towards Voldemort, but he was sitting there watching with a vicious, appreciative smile on his face.

It was only then that some of them began to comprehend what was happening before their eyes. They looked from Lucius, convulsing in clear pain, to where Harry sat, hands on the edge of the table and a look of sadistic pleasure on his face. They all shuddered almost as one. Wandless, non verbal Unforgivable Curses were nigh impossible to cast, yet Potter had done it without the slightest sign of effort. It was very reasonably their worst nightmare come true. Many made the instant decision to _never_ attract Potter’s anger.

After what seemed an age, he cancelled the spell with a blink of evergreen eyes. Watching Lucius attempt to control his shaking, Potter spoke, his voice soft, soothing.

“Let the pain you are feeling now be a reminder, should you be tempted to cross me again, Lucius.”

Next to Harry, Black hadn’t moved except to bristle in outrage at Lucius’ words and tone. He showed no apprehension or fear whatsoever about the figure at his side, remaining alert and focused. Voldemort admitted a grudging respect for the pureblood and his behavior, the man certainly hadn’t shows of yet an indicator that he was sliding back into his previous thought processes or behaviors. And, the Dark Lord mused, Potter would likely take the man out himself if he moved to betray their cause. He would not get in their way any longer, so long as Black’s behavior and thoughts stayed the same.

Above the sounds of Lucius’ labored breathing, Voldemort asked Harry, “How goes the infiltration of the school?”

“It goes well,” Harry said in response, ignoring the sharp inhales of surprise from the Inner Circle at the revelation. “Dumbledore remains ignorant that we are under his crooked nose. The death of Severus is an unexpected boon on another front, we need not worry about being outed as Death Eaters if we respond to your summons now.”

“Exercise caution still,” Voldemort warned. “If he got to one of my followers, especially one in my Inner Circle, it stands to reason he could have more than one spy within my ranks.”

“If so,” Harry said coolly, “they will enjoy a fate similar to Severus.”

Voldemort smirked. “Of that I have no doubt.”

“Our plan to remove the school from Dumbledore’s control moves at a steady pace,” Harry continued. “It suits our purposes to have an inquiry done at the school. I am close to finding the wards and when I do so, I may _tweak_ them a bit so to speak. I know you would prefer Dumbledore to be dead, my Lord, but there is certain satisfaction in seeing him in prison, helpless to stop your goals.”

“True,” Voldemort mused, more delighted by the second as he considered his follower’s words. It would be heady to have Dumbledore helpless to stop him, watching on as he changed the wizarding world piece by piece.

Harry speared the still-recovering Lucius with a fierce green stare, the pureblood warily eyeing him back. “Do make sure, Lucius, when you speak to the Board of Governors, that they are aware there is no need to use Veritaserum on any of the remaining staff,” the warning was very softly spoken.

“I am very pleased with you, Harry, and you as well, Sirius. You are both exceeding my expectations on how you are handling the school. Be wary of causing unnecessary bloodshed there, we want our takeover to be fairly peaceful. There is no reason to involve mere children in war.”

“Of course,” Potter answered easily. He would agree with Voldemort on that in seconds, after all he had been set up as Dumbledore’s child soldier for the war before his imprisonment. Potter was not gullible; he had likely seen through the twinkly demeanor Dumbledore projected.

“Dismissed,” Voldemort said lazily, waving his fingers at them all.

The Inner Circle departed, Antonin Dolohov slinking warily as far away from Potter as possible, giving him a look of hateful derision. Voldemort watched him depart with curious eyes, wondering where Antonin’s petty loathing of those with ‘impure’ blood would lead him. Knowing his Heir the way he did, to his grave.

He was not displeased with the idea.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets to play with the Slytherins *insert evil grin here*  
I'm done with classes until the 25th of January, yay!  
Words: 4,310
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter.

Back at Hogwarts, Harry was discovering there were more joys to be had in tormenting Draco and his little lackeys. The fear and _pain_ in the boy’s eyes when he’d read the morning paper had been delectable. Even more so since he knew the Malfoy heir was aware that he had something to do with it. Draco’s inability to say anything regarding who Seth Griffin was would drive him mad by the end of the year, Harry was convinced. Without Snape, the Slytherins were _vulnerable,_ or at least those that had thought to make his life hell.

Poor, spoiled Draco. He had not truly thought it through, what would be required for him to be Harry’s actual nemesis and not just a schoolyard bully. He didn’t know how far Harry would go to play the game. Now his precious godfather was dead, the one who had let him get away with everything under the sun and then some. His Head of House was now a strict, no-nonsense woman who wouldn’t put up with any of his behavior. At least until the new professor arrived, sometime later that week.

Before then, Harry was going to have a bit of _fun._ He was the Alpha, the predator, the true viper in the snake’s den; the rest of his House was just beginning to realize that. Theodore had made the first gamble; Harry would make sure that his loyalty was rewarded richly. Before then, he had a few strays to bring to heel. Malicious glee lit his eyes as they sat at the evening table, taking their last meal for the day. Two days after the _Daily Prophet’_s article and one since the meeting with the Dark Lord, the mood in Hogwarts was still subdued.

Harry had not been surprised to realize that the trait of arrogance and hot air had passed from father to son, he had enjoyed _educating_ Malfoy Sr. that evening. The fact that Voldemort had let him torture one of his followers had been surprising, but on hindsight it made sense. The man wasn’t preventing any of his followers from realizing that Harry was his heir. They would just have to apply a bit of sense and intellect to come to the correct conclusion.

Theo was looking at him now, no doubt able to sense his aura of glee as he sat at the table, warily wondering what he was up to. Smart boy! Unlike Draco, Theodore not only suspected that he had something to do with the double deaths from the paper, he _knew._ The Nott heir was smart enough to keep his mouth shut on the matter however, realizing that it was not meant for public areas or those where eavesdroppers could overhear a vital piece of information. He wondered if Theodore sensed at all how important his companion actually was.

He was unsure, but the boy’s cautious, respectful behavior had earned him a few notches of esteem in Harry’s eyes. He had come into Hogwarts as a complete unknown, the unremarkable Seth Griffin. Theodore would have been well within his right to ignore the stranger, staying out of his way and thus being left alone by Harry in turn. But instead, he had offered a hand, smartly realizing that ‘Seth’ was more than he seemed. As long as the Lord Nott wasn’t a complete arse, he would have to make a point of showing his gratitude to the man for how he had raised his son.

Up at the Head Table, Sirius was watching him with a secret amusement. The other man knew Harry as well as or sometimes better than he knew himself. He no doubt knew that Harry had something planned for the evening and was likely trying to imagine what it was. While Sirius had a vivid imagination, Harry was sure that he could probably still surprise his beloved. Creativity was his strong point, after all. It wouldn’t do to be boring, now would it? Especially after coming under the tutoring of the lovely Bella, he would _hate_ to disappoint her.

Despite his overall distaste at being back here, there were some amusements to be had. Walking around under Dumbledore’s nose was a big one. The old coot styled himself as a powerful, omnipresent wizard, yet he hadn’t realized that there were two Death Eaters inside his school. Three including the late, unlamented Snape. According to Sirius he was still trying to ward off a full investigation into the school, which just wouldn’t do. Harry would be most displeased if all of his work came to nothing.

Voldemort wanted Hogwarts. It made logical sense to take the school, the place where young and impressionable minds came to be taught. Here future generations were shaped by the staff, who were hired by the Headmaster or mistress. For far too long, the staff and students had been stagnant under Dumbledore’s control, reduced in the eyes of the magical world. They needed change to grow, to evolve into the pinnacle of society they could be.

For these students would go out from here to the wizarding world, particularly to wizarding Great Britain and a few foreign countries. They would take their teachings and subtle bias out into society and impress it upon the rest of the world. If it were the right vision, the right ideas, their world would change for the better. If it was _not_ the right ideas, they would change for the worse, as was currently happening before an unseeing, apathetic populace.

They needed a bit of change, a bit of _chaos_ to open their eyes. That was what Voldemort had set out to bring them, forty years prior. It had taken longer than he wanted, cost more precious lives. But that change was coming on swift winds now, only the young and supple would bend before it and survive. Those who were stuck in their ways and resisted, digging in their roots and standing tall, would fall just like the great and ancient trees eventually did in a storm.

Finally Dumbledore dismissed the evening meal, the students rising and departing for their various common rooms. The Slytherins were escorted there by their new Head of House, as she had done for the last two days. Aurora Sinastra was tall for a woman, nearly as strict as McGonagall. She was not the most approachable of individuals, her intelligence setting her apart from the children she was temporarily responsible. The major tick in her favor from Harry’s perspective was that she kept Draco and his little group in line, not letting them get away with much, if anything.

Harry strolled to the fireplace, sitting down in front of it on one of the massive settees that were placed around the room. They were made of real leather of course, nothing but the best for the pampered princes and princesses of Slytherin. With this kind of luxury, no wonder they thought themselves superior to most of the other students. Though, Harry admitted, he _did_ like the feel of the silk sheets on his bed against his skin. He would have to invest in a few himself for when he was no longer here.

He lounged indolently in front of the fireplace, stripping off his cloak and tie and rolling back his sleeves. His Dark Mark was under a glamour at the moment, Voldemort had instructed him on one in Parseltongue for his and Sirius’ marks. They used that specific spell because this glamour was impervious to any means of magical reveal, it would even work on the paranoid Auror Alastor Moody’s famous enchanted eye. Voldemort didn’t expect them to be revealed by anyone or any spell while they were here, but a bit of precaution didn’t hurt.

As the night wore on, Harry began to think that he had misjudged Draco. Perhaps the little peacock wasn’t going to approach him tonight. He quietly pouted at the idea of losing his fun for the evening. Beginning to contemplate alternatives, he sensed more than heard the approaching footsteps. Feeling the _fear, anger, uncertainty, conviction_ rolling off the individual, he smirked.

It seemed he would be having his fun after all.

* * *

Theodore Nott had always been pragmatic. He was from a well-respected Dark family, one with a long and storied history. It had been his ancestor that had come up with the formal ‘Sacred Twenty-Eight’, those most influential and oldest families in magical Great Britain. Theodore was proud to be part of it and proud to be a firstborn son, not a spare. He once had been, but his elder brother had been put to death for serving the Dark Lord after the man’s fall in 1981. As a result, his father Thaddeus had been required to make his second son Theodore his heir.

Thaddeus had not initially been very pleased. While his brother Cadmus had been learning at their father’s knee to lead their family since the age of four, Theodore had been primarily raised by his mother and nanny elves. His father and elder brother had always scoffed that he was ‘soft’ from his raising. Theodore had been content to let his sire think that, meanwhile learning everything he could get his hands on about the Dark Arts. When his father had drawn a wand on him to test his abilities, Theodore had felt no small amount of satisfaction at the sound of his father’s body striking the opposing wall. He had ripped right through his father’s shield with a powerful blasting hex, not even fully a Dark Arts spell but definitely on the darker side of grey.

It had gained him his father’s grudging respect. That and the threat of leaving the family entirely, taking the funds he’d been putting away for years and forcing his father to give his precious title to one of Theodore’s inferior cousins. As a result, he had his own vault, made his own career choices and would choose his own spouse, so long as they were a pureblood of decent status. Thaddeus’ attempt at a threat on the last had made Theodore roll his eyes, he may be progressive amongst his family but he wouldn’t marry some dirty-blooded girl just to make his point. He had some pride after all.

At the moment he was quietly congratulating himself on offering a hand of friendship/service to the wizard next to him. Theo would never refer to Potter as ‘young’. The other had been through things that most teenagers wouldn’t face even in their darkest nightmares. He was an old soul trapped in a youthful body. Theodore had not been able to believe his eyes when he saw Potter again.

The night Draco had made a fool of himself for the first time, the revelations offered on who this ‘Seth Griffin’ really was had shocked all of Slytherin. While most were still trying to figure out who exactly this stranger was, it had made a few stray pieces click into place for Theodore. After all, the entirety of their education there had been exactly _one_ individual that would make Draco lose his temper thusly. He had been put into Azkaban for life at twelve, the youngest convict on record at the Ministry.

Theo had contemplated the matter overnight, considering his course of action. He could remain quiet and let Potter stay anonymous amongst the students, working on whatever it was he was here for. Or, he could offer his hand to the other, potentially making himself a powerful ally instead of remaining in the shadows as he had for most of his schooling. He knew that if he extended his hand and then backtracked or changed his mind, his life would be forfeit. Theo had taken the plunge, with surprising results.

While he wouldn’t quite call himself Potter’s _friend,_ he was probably closer to the teen than anyone else aside from the Lord Black, also here undercover. The revelation that both of them were Death Eaters and here on orders from their Lord was quite a surprise. Theodore was honored to be of aid to the powerful wizards, agreeing to any of Potter’s requests readily enough. The other hadn’t requested him to do anything too extreme as of yet, merely requesting alibis a few times.

This latest episode though. Theodore had been as surprised as anyone else to see the morning paper, though he hid it well. A glance at the gleeful face of his companion confirmed what he knew, as well as the fleeting smugness on the disguised Lord Black’s face. His companion had been summoned the day before, returning unharmed and vaguely pleased, humming a nonsensical little tune under his breath. This all gave Theodore even more questions, foremost amongst them; who was Potter to the Dark Lord that he let him kill his followers?

Potter had been quiet but pleased all day today, his aura flicking out gently against Theo’s own with a sense of _pleasure_ in it. After the meal it had retreated somewhat, becoming more subdued as the night wore on. It was about an hour before curfew for the seventh years when Theodore felt the flickering touch again, the excitement back.

Draco Malfoy stood in front of Potter; hands clenched into fists. His pale, sharp features looked even more so in the firelight. He was trying for a haughty sort of confidence, a bit of his usual arrogance, but Theodore could see the _fear_ in those grey eyes. He shook his head a little bit in bemusement, hadn’t Malfoy had enough fun the last time he confronted Potter?

Around the common room, the other seventh years watched the upcoming confrontation with varying expressions. Those that supported Draco had anticipation and retribution in their eyes. Those that were coming to realize that ‘Seth Griffin’ was more than he seemed were more subdued, watching with a sort of wary curiosity. Theodore himself sat back in the settee, wishing he had a box of Ice Mice so that he could properly enjoy the show.

“Griffin!” Draco barked, his voice sudden and loud in the silence. Potter didn’t even look up at his ‘name’, still casually lazing back in his seat, eyes half-closed.

“I’m talking to you, _filth,”_ Draco snarled venomously. “You think you’re so superior to us, don’t you? You’re nothing but a filthy half-blood, not even fit to lick our shoes! How dare you sit there in that seat with _amusement _as we mourn the death of our Head of House! I know you had something to do with it and I’ll have you arrested!”

Potter’s eyes snapped open with a suddenness that startled those watching, Draco actually taking a half-step back before he caught himself. Lazily he stood up, stretching his arms above his head with nonchalant ease. His aura started to spread around the room, covering all of the student’s and constricting a little bit, forcing them to silence. It was _drowning _Draco in its increasing strength, causing his face to pale even more as he struggled to get free.

Potter turned around, putting his back to Draco as the other teen was forced, trembling and struggling, down onto his knees. Theodore was close enough to see the strain it caused in his face, the humiliated _rage_ at being forced into a subservient position before the one he had called inferior. He was glad that he was exempt from the sensation Draco and the rest were feeling. It seemed to be a very painful experience.

Sighting the portrait above the fireplace, a small, dangerous smile curved Potter’s mouth. The portrait had been there for generations, not responding to any of the students that passed through Slytherin House, no matter how many variations of the command ‘speak’ had been uttered. He watched them all in a silent arrogance, dressed in rich green, blue and black silk with shimmering cobalt eyes.

Potter opened his mouth and _hissed._ The sibilant sounds of Parseltongue fell fluidly from his lips. Theodore watched as eyes around the common room went wide in shock. There were exactly two known wizards gifted with Parselmouth at current, one was the Dark Lord. The other was a boy sentenced to Azkaban at twelve. And then the portrait _hissed back._ Around the common room, students’ eyes widened in sudden comprehension.

The portrait they had made demands of, the one that never responded to any of them, was the Founder of their House. Salazar Slytherin himself, watching them all with judging eyes as they lived out their juvenile lives in the school he had helped to found. The collective embarrassment the students felt for themselves and their ancestors’ behavior was enough to ensure their continued silence.

Upon the conclusion of their conversation, Potter turned back to Draco with a malicious smile. Behind him, Salazar Slytherin slashed his hand in a certain manner and uttered what was possibly a long phrase in Parseltongue, or perhaps a single word. There was a flash of brilliant blue light and a thrumming vibration from the stone beneath their feet. Simultaneous with the flash of light, thin bands of the same blue appeared around the room on all the student’s wrists, excluding Theodore.

The bands tightened enough to be painful, judging by the way some students cried out, before disappearing as if they had never been. As the light faded, Potter hissed something in Parseltongue himself. His appearance as ‘Seth’ began to waver before their eyes, appearing to be a shimmer vision. It eventually disintegrated. There, before their incredulous eyes, was a very familiar sight. Black hair, longer than before and falling in rich waves. No more glasses. Pale skin, paler yet than the pressed white shirt he wore. Full lips for a male, curled into a truly vicious smile. Finally, dark evergreen eyes, locked with terrified grey ones.

Harry Potter cracked his neck, staring around the room with his vivid eyes. The scar on his forehead was almost an afterthought. No, the thing drawing all of their apprehensive attention was the shining gold Dark Mark, indicating that Potter was not only a Death Eater, but part of Voldemort’s Inner Circle. He studied them all lazily, with the air of a hunting cat surveying prey.

His dangerous attention was drawn back to Draco when the teen forced out an angry laugh and said, “Your arrogance has done you in, Potter! Now everyone here knows who you are and can report you to Dumbledore!”

His cold, visceral smile only widened as he tsked softly. “Draco, Draco.”

His voice was soft, yet carried throughout the room with ease. It was hypnotic in a way, holding their attention without effort. It was silken yet made of steel, violence held back by a thread.

“Do you really take me for such a fool? My Lord’s ancestor was more than willing to cast an oath of silence upon you all. I really do pity the fool who tries to speak to any member of the staff, let alone Dumbledore. Salazar Slytherin is a brilliant spell-crafter, but he doesn’t hold for traitors. Let me make this clear, for all of you. If you try to tell anyone who I am, the spell will kill you swiftly yet painfully. You cannot even reveal who I am under Veritaserum, this oath is so complete. It’s the same one the Dark Lord cast on you at the beginning of term to keep your fool mouth from running away and ruining his plans.”

Many eyes widened in comprehension, looks darting to their now unmarked wrists.

Bending down a little, Harry put a single finger underneath Draco’s chin, lifting the blonde’s head up so that their eyes met. “I will know if you try to do anything, Draco. I am a natural, unstoppable Legilimens. Many have tried to keep me out and failed. I am even able to get past our Lord’s defenses, he asked me to try. Curiosity’s sake, I assume.”

Several students shuddered. Theo’s eyes widened. An _unstoppable _Legilimens? The ability was nearly unheard of! They had not existed since the ancient times, when Magic was freer with her gifts. It made sudden cold sense as to why Harry had accepted his offer of assistance.

“Half-blood I may be,” Harry continued softly, “but I am in no way _inferior_ to any of you stuck-up little pureblood children. Our Lord understands that, which is why I am in his Inner Circle at all of seventeen. He does not suffer fools. You Malfoys,” he laughed coldly. “Arrogance seems to run in your blood. I had to _educate_ your father on this very subject at the last meeting. If there is one thing Lord Voldemort does right, it is correction. Lucius was quick to see my way of thinking after a good round of _Crucio._”

Draco began to scream, loudly. His body was convulsing painfully, only remaining upright due to Potter’s aura forcing him into the position. His screams only gained in pitch over time, devolving into shrieks and hoarse cries. It was only moments later he began to beg. “P-lease!”

“Please what?” Potter asked mildly, ignoring the horrified gaze of the other students. Several were looking at the door, half-hoping that someone would come through if only to investigate Draco’s screams. Theodore was surprised that he was getting away with using an Unforgivable at all, let alone on Hogwarts grounds. Then he realized something. _Potter hadn’t cast the spell with a wand._ He shuddered in sudden horrified comprehension, vowing never to piss of the other wizard. Being able to cast an Unforgivable _wandless?_ The sheer power that would take!

Draco’s shrieks were increasing in volume, blood dribbling down his chin from where he had bitten into his lip attempting to stop his cries. It was futile of course; the pain of the Cruciatus Curse was said to be more than any man or woman could bear. Eventually though, Potter seemed to tire of the shrieking, flicking a finger and stopping the spell. As Draco remained in his kneeling position, sobbing in pain, Potter lazily flicked his hand again.

Draco’s eyes glazed over, his limbs trembling in a combination of pain and an attempt at resistance. Theodore watched with trepidation. Wandless, _nonverbal_ Unforgivable Curses. Dear Merlin, Morgana and Circe! He was beginning to really pity anyone who crossed this version of Harry Potter. The other students seemed to finally be getting the picture, eyes widening in terror. They were sheep before a basilisk, not one of them would be any match for what Potter was flaunting so easily.

The Malfoy heir bent in half, eased in his burden by Potter’s magic, now visible in swirls of black, green and deep gold. There were ribbons of the stuff twirling in the air, climbing up the walls, curling around the students. Most of it was twisted around Draco at this point, forcing him to do the other’s bidding. His head level with the ground, his pink tongue darted out and licked Potter’s shoes.

Theodore resisted a snicker, as did several other students who didn’t like Malfoy much. It was what he had insinuated Potter was worth, so Potter had showed him who would be forced into that base position. The Malfoy heir was raised back up into an upright position and released from the spell, his face pink with humiliation.

“Let me enlighten you, Draco. You think I had something to do with your precious godfather’s death? I did not. I _orchestrated _it. It was my sonata and I was maestro. It was wonderful too, I’m sorry you missed it! Watching that proud man _beg_ for his life from a transformed werewolf the way you just begged me to stop your pain. I’m merciful, you know? I stopped the spell, just like I stopped him from running away so that the wolf could have its meal.”

Several of the students looked grey at the unwanted details, not to mention Harry’s amused pleasure as he recounted the tale. He continued, holding their rapt, unwilling attention.

“I didn’t do it just for the fun of it, you know? As much as I would have liked to for the man’s miserable behavior towards me, a child, for two years. I did it with _permission._ You see, your precious godfather was a **_traitor._** We proved it to the Dark Lord, Snape had revealed information he wasn’t supposed to. He was working for _Dumbledore_ of all people,” Harry spat, rage in his voice as he spoke the name.

“So Draco, how does it feel? How is it being the godson of a **_traitor_ **to your Lord? Do you still think you’re safe? Do you still see a grand welcome once you graduate? Do you still see a shiny final year where you, a spoiled little _brat,_ can get away with anything and everything?”

Looking into Draco’s tear-filled, pained eyes and furious expression, Potter smirked. “You know what I see? I still see a daddy’s boy, who threatens everyone with his father for any offense. I still see a _child,_ meek and timid. I see a coward, who hides behind his blood and flounces around like it makes him better. _I see you, Draco._”

Harry’s magic, still visible, slowly retreated. Students audibly gasped as it left them, able to breathe fully again. It swirled around him, covering his body in darkness as it slowly retreated. It left Draco last of all, the Malfoy heir falling to his face from the pain of the Cruciatus aftershocks once Potter’s magic no longer kept him upright. Sobbing, the teen forced himself to his feet and made a hasty, undignified retreat to his quarters.

Eyeing Parkinson coldly as the last of his magic retreated, Harry said calmly, “Make sure he gets the potion he requires. I will not have his inability to handle pain cause problems for us.”

Nodding, terrified, Pansy bolted from the room.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is short, but the next one is longer, promise.
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter.  
Word count: 2,415

Confident that he had absolute authority over his House now, Harry reworked his glamour so that the students in the know saw his normal appearance. It didn’t matter, soon he could shed the glamour like the ill-fitting second skin it was. He was sitting in a carriage, headed for the train. It was empty apart from Theodore, who sat across from him reading a book. The winter holidays had finally arrived, none too soon for Harry’s worn-thin patience. If it had not been requested of him by Voldemort personally, he would have never returned to this place.

Dumbledore had managed to delay the inquiry until the beginning of the year, not that it mattered in the long term. His days at the school were numbered, anyone around him could clearly see it. Yet the old man remained blind, trusting in his wavering authority to smooth the ruffled feathers at the Ministry and the Board of Governors. Harry snorted, not at all surprised by Dumbledore’s lack of connection to reality in the slightest. He had his head in the clouds, still thinking himself revered for a single win forty-plus years prior. And there were those that had their own suspicions about his legendary ‘duel’ with Grindelwald.

Harry disembarked the carriage with a smooth grace that even pureblood heirs would envy, not even needing to use his hands to stabilize himself. His magic curled around his body in tight swirls, struggling against his control. It wanted to be freed, after having a taste of it the other night in Slytherin, his magic _ached_ to be unleashed. The Dark Arts were called addicting by the wizards that feared it, this was one of the reasons why.

Once it had been released to do as it willed, it was very difficult to control. That was one of the reasons why there were only a few with the power they wielded. Oh people like the Malfoys and their ilk would call themselves Dark witches and wizards, but most of the magic they practiced was either gray or borderline dark. It was only because of the politics of the wizarding world that the spells they used were termed ‘Dark’. True Dark wizards, like himself and Voldemort, required a mental strength and will above that of normal individuals in order to control their magic once it had become saturated in the Dark Arts.

Harry strolled to the front of the train, levitating his trunk behind him. He slid open the compartment door and entered, situating his belongings where he had his back to the wall and the only door led to the conductor’s post at the engine. Then he returned and helped Theodore gather and situate his own belongings across from himself, at one of the prime windows on the train. This was normally the Head Girl and Boy’s compartment, but Harry was less than concerned.

He took off his school robe, folding it and sending it into his trunk with a flick. He took out his winter traveling cloak instead, a gift from Sirius. Black velvet lined with silk, it had silver buttons off-centered to the right and a soft black fur-lined hood. He settled it onto the chair next to him along with a book in case he grew bored, sitting down and getting himself comfortable. Opening the other bag he had with him, he pulled out a sealed container and two tea mugs with saucers.

“Tea?” he asked Theodore, who was watching him with curiosity.

“What kind?”

“A mix of ginger, lemon and orange,” Harry replied. “It’s not one of the usual stocks, I put it together myself before heading out today.”

Theo laughed. “Why am I not surprised that you know where the kitchens are? Yes, please.”

Harry poured two cups from the magical thermos and pulled out a small container each of cream and sugar. He only put a single cube of sugar in his own, preferring the sharply pungent aroma of the brew to overpowering sweetness. Sitting back he took a sip, letting out a sigh of satisfaction.

About halfway through his cup, the door to the compartment slid open again, announcing the arriving students. They boarded the train together, Hermione laughing at something the boy had said with a shrill tone that put Harry’s teeth on edge. Not even noticing Harry and Theo, the two put down their bags and promptly locked lips in a rather obscene display. Harry rolled his eyes but did not speak, curious how long it would take them to notice they had company.

It was only when the boy started to slide his hands under and _up_ Hermione’s blouse that Harry took action, sharply clearing his throat. It was almost amusing to watch how fast their faces reddened as the boy ripped his hand away, both turning sharply to face the sound. Hermione patted her bushy hair down and said sharply, “I believe you are in the wrong compartment.”

Harry arched a brow. “I am in _a _compartment on the train, I am not sure as to how you think that it is the _wrong one,_ considering we are not assigned compartments.”

“This is the Head’s compartment Griffin,” she snapped. “Twenty points from Slytherin when the term starts again for your cheek, take your stuff and leave.”

Harry set down his cup of tea and stood up, smoothing his shirt unnecessarily. He was not the tallest of individuals but he had a few inches on Hermione, bushy hair not included. Not that it mattered. He took a couple steps forward and tilted his head just so, giving her a look that he knew from experience made one feel as though they were inches tall. Letting her face redden a little more, he stood in silence for a few moments. A quick glance at the boy saw him to be tongue-tied, certainly not any trouble.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” he smiled, his tone saccharine sweet. “I am not moving my belongings anywhere, nor is Theodore. We are not in the school, so any privileges that they may have conferred on you are a moot point. Nor will those points hold water with any member of the staff, I assure you. So how about a deal? Theo and I will stay over here in our little spot and you and your beau will have the other. I’ll even throw in a bonus and not mention the fact that you have been seeing your little toy on the side to your Gryffindor boyfriend.”

“Like he would believe you!” Hermione spat, but her face had paled a little.

Harry shrugged. “Take it for what you will, Granger. I personally would be very interested to know that my girl had been letting others grope her body like you were so eager to do the minute you entered the compartment.”

The boy spoke low and rapidly in her ear, trying to defuse the situation. Brown eyes flashed and Hermione snapped, “Fine! But I don’t want to hear another word out of you to either of us while we are on the train.”

“Believe me, Miss Granger, this conversation has not been my idea of pleasant either,” Harry said coldly.

She flushed and turned away, huffily stomping over to the other window and taking a seat. Harry watched her for a long moment, his _rage_ barely under control. He wanted to have her screaming on the ground like Malfoy had been, helpless to save herself with all of her vaunted knowledge but lack of actual power. He wanted her to _bleed._ But now was not the time, so he exerted vicious control over his magic and turned away, moving back to take his seat again. Theodore was watching him with a quiet sort of understanding. Of course he would have realized why Harry would want Hermione to hurt, remembering that the two had been friends at one point in time.

Harry was rather surprised she had the nerve to cheat on Ronald anyway. From what he remembered of her, she worshipped the ground any figure of authority walked on and seemed more likely to spend her time licking shoes than putting out for any male figure, let alone Ronald. But they would have had four fairly peaceful years without his presence, perhaps away from her strict parents Hermione had developed a rather different personality.

The rest of the train ride passed in silence, Harry suffering the Malfoys to pick him up on the other end. He would have rather just Apparated, but they were not out of the public eye yet. Once they arrived via Floo, Harry snapped at the elves to take his things up to his quarters and headed for the grounds, needing to vent some of his tension. If he preferred to go outside so that he could see the Malfoy’s eventual dismay at the damage he would create, that was his own little secret.

Sirius found him out there later, temper eventually cooled enough to be civil. The other eyeballed the mess that had once been one of the most picturesque rose gardens in magical society and said, “Do I want to know who got you this angry?”

Harry breathed hard through his nose, nostrils flaring. Clenching his fists, he stared with angry satisfaction at the sheer wanton destruction he had caused and spat, “I ran into Granger on the train.”

Sirius’ eyes sparked with his own flare of anger and said, “Ahh. Do we have a body to hide?”

Harry looked at him, vaguely amused. Sirius had said it so matter-of-factly, without any sort of surprise or concern.

“No,” he responded, voice a bit sharp. “I knew better than to cause the death of a student on the train, the amount of possible perpetrators would have been limited. I fielded the confrontation myself in a matter of speaking, after all I was the one to chose the Head’s compartment for the journey. Perhaps that was a mistake. I grow _tired _of being there, my patience is on a knife’s edge.”

“I saw how fearfully the Slytherins were looking at you the other morning. What did you do?”

“A little reestablishing in the hierarchy within Slytherin,” Harry said with a nasty smirk, remembering how much he had enjoyed making Draco scream.

Sirius snickered in appreciation, no doubt able to picture something of the night from Harry’s description and expression. After all, the other knew how he worked. More than any here, he would appreciate all of the havoc Harry was wreaking amongst the privileged children who called Slytherin home. He _knew_ how well Harry would take them and their regards on blood. Which was why his next words made Sirius blink in surprise.

“I intend to do a blood purification ritual over the holidays,” Harry spoke.

“Why? I know how little you care for the importance of blood status. You and our Lord are half-bloods and yet you’re both some of the most powerful wizards in decades.”

“The blood purification ritual doesn’t remove Evans as my mother,” Harry pointed out, “it just purifies her ancestors and relatives, makes it as if she doesn’t have any other generations. My blood will still retain the genetic mix she gave me, it will just be as if she was a first generation of magical line, not descended from Muggles or Squibs.”

“I know,” Sirius replied, glaring playfully at Harry. “I know what the ritual is, I’m just surprised you want to do it considering how little you give a damn to the importance our society places on blood.”

“It is still important to the majority of our society,” Harry replied patiently. “Pureblood lines that mix with lesser ones are still considered to be diluted, not worth as much. I love you and whether we date informally or you wish to extend a courting contract, I will not have your family line looked down upon. The Blacks are practically wizarding royalty through sheer age, I do not want the children I eventually bear to be seen as worth less than previous generations.”

“You are doing it for me, for my family line?” Sirius blinked in surprise.

“For us,” Harry corrected, “for the future we are trying to build, piece by fragile piece.”

Sirius’ eyes softened. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “And I do plan on courting you properly, if you are amenable to the fact.”

“I know it is something important to you, even if I find it old fashioned,” Harry said softly. “Promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“Don’t let it last forever,” Harry said impishly.

Sirius laughed. “I won’t,” he swore. “Six months at most, then I plan on making you mine.”

“How sweet,” Harry teased.

“More like I don’t have the patience to let it last longer than that,” Sirius grinned.

Harry rolled his eyes. That sounded more the like the impatient Black Lord he knew.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this one surprises a couple of people *evil grin*  
I don't own Harry Potter.
> 
> Words: 2,356

Yule at Malfoy Manor with the Dark Lord had been surprisingly _normal._ Harry snorted, wondering what he had expected to be different. Most Dark wizards were only ‘Dark’ in name, not in their actual magics. It exposed those who followed Dumbledore and his ilk for the hypocrites they were, considering that most of those they pointed fingers at and accused of being ‘Dark’ were almost exactly the same as themselves, just with slightly different values. The whole argument over Dark/Light magic irritated Harry to no end, he refused to indulge his new peers on their whims and fancies.

There was only _Magic,_ any further classification and regulations were constructs of the human mind, trying to comprehend something far beyond their understanding. He did not consider himself a _dark wizard,_ so to speak, more that he just used magic however he saw fit, refusing to classify his actions as good or evil. He knew many of his decisions were morally questionable and legally condemned, but in the eyes of Magic he just existed. His gifts and how he used them pleased Magic, which was why he remained so powerful.

Harry strolled easily through Malfoy Manor, looking for the massive solar. He was not lost, simply enjoying his surroundings. That and attempting to contain his amusement at how both Lucius and Draco twitched nervously in his presence. Neither one of them would stay in the same room with him unless absolutely necessary. He could see the amusement in Sirius’ quicksilver eyes and in some of the other Inner Circle at how very obvious the pair were. Their reactions were unusual for a family known for their elegant composure and arrogance.

He knew he’d reached the right area when the dark hallway was suddenly flooded with natural light, making a great deal of the portraits in the vicinity cover their eyes and flee to darker paintings to escape the brightness. Harry walked forward into the light, controlling his wince at the assault on his eyes with effort. This room had obviously had Narcissa’s influence and design, there were houseplants everywhere and richly cushioned chairs and lounges with small, delicate tables.

Sitting at one of those tables with a cup of tea in front of her was the woman Harry had been searching for; the lovely and somewhat unpredictable Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black. She looked up at him through heavy-lidded blue eyes, darker blue than her sister Narcissa. Her rich black hair fell in dark waves down her back to her hips, full of thick curls that made it’s appearance almost riotous. A small quirk, not enough to be a smile or a smirk, curved her full lips as he sat across from her.

Sirius had always admired his cousin, as had Harry. She had never been fully stable, even as a child, but that instability and unique way of looking at things had probably saved her from the ‘teachings’ of her Aunt Walburga. She had come through with her own brand of strength and fierce character. Never running away nor rebelling as her cousin Sirius or sister Andromeda had, she had always endured the rough sections of her life.

Initially disdainful of Harry, her feelings had eventually changed when she realized how strong he was magically. She had been honest in her reservations about him, which had earned her Harry’s respect. Once her opinions had begun to change, she had been one of his fiercest protectors and most frequent instructors. With a dark glee in her eyes she had taught him everything she knew of magic and curses, encouraging him to think of creative uses for common spells.

“Come to visit little ol’ me, Harry?” she said curiously.

Harry hummed in response. “Did you know that your nephew is afraid of just your name?”

“Aww,” she cooed, her voice becoming almost saccharine, “Drakey-poo is afraid of his lil’ old Auntie Bella? I’m really not surprised, Narcissa and Lucius babied that boy all his life, he’s almost spoiled beyond use. He’s the only child they can have, you know, thanks to Lucy’s dear old dad.”

“Really?” Harry arched a brow, flicking his hand to summon a spare cup for himself. He poured some of the tea and took a sip, savoring the rich, bitter taste.

“Really. Lucius may be civilized, but Abraxas was a brute. Women were broodmares and their husband’s property, nothing more. You must realize how _grating_ that would have been to one like Narcissa, who was raised as her mother’s princess. They butted heads constantly over the years. She lost her temper with him when she was four months along, hormones I assume. He whipped out his wand and put her under the Cruciatus Curse, not stopping until Lucius stunned him.”

Harry crinkled his nose. “The man put his own pregnant daughter-in-law under that spell?”

Bella’s eyes had lost their shine, a frown taking over her expression. “Yes. Healers kept her from losing Draco then and there, but when the strain of late pregnancy hit her she wasn’t able to endure it and delivered almost three months early. It’s miraculous that Draco survived, but as a result he’s been babied and pampered his entire life. The damage from the curse and Draco’s early birth ensured that Narcissa is unable to carry another child.”

“Well he’d better start gaining some of his family’s intelligence, or the Malfoy’s are going to get wiped out,” Harry said bluntly. “The little git keeps trying his hardest to either challenge or expose me at the school. Funny enough,” a nasty smirk crossed Harry’s face, “he doesn’t like my _corrections_ much, considering how often he incurs them.”

Bella’s eyes shone with appreciation at the malice in his voice and she said eagerly, “Do tell me about some of them, I would like to hear about my protégé’s _creativity.”_

With a grin, Harry settled in to describe life at Hogwarts so far, with all the juicy details he knew Bellatrix would enjoy. They were kindred souls in a way, he had known what to do to perk up her spirits at the lack of activity recently. After all, a good dose of torture, when described in exquisite detail, was just as fun for those listening as the ones partaking.

* * *

Sirius panted, chest heaving with effort. He was in decent shape, still not to his pre-Azkaban standards. Still, he was immensely better than some of the slouches that had been his companions in the Order of the Phoenix. Some of them, the Weasley adults immediately came to mind, never actually tried to have a prolonged wizarding duel until they were actually in a battle. It was no wonder that they rarely won, based on sheer desperation and a few talented individuals rather than competent training and practice.

The only sop to his wounded pride was that his opponent was just as worn out as he was, perhaps even more. Rabastan was bent over at the waist, his exhales still tinted with a bit of a wheeze. The Lestrange brothers were the same age as Sirius, considered a gift to their pureblood family since it was well known that twins were a rare occurrence, especially if both twins had magic. From what he had seen, Rodolphus was slightly more powerful magically, but Rabastan made up for that in his effort to train and control his magic.

The slightly shorter and stockier twin looked at him with mischievous brown eyes and panted, “That was a good round, Black. I always tend to forget how damn powerful your family is!”

Sirius laughed, pleased to realize the sound was only slightly breathless. “Just be glad that Harry declined your offer to join us. We would both be dealing with a dent to our pride if he had!”

Rabastan merely snorted in agreement, straightening up as he regained his breath. Flicking his wand, he summoned a tray sitting on a table across the room which contained a spelled-cold pitcher of water and two glasses. Filling both, he downed one rapidly and filled it again. Sirius copied him, sipping at the second to keep from overloading his stomach with the ice-cold liquid, no matter how good it tasted. After sixteen years in Azkaban with the only water being what ran down the walls from their high, barred windows, he would never again take simple clean, cold water for granted.

“When they first threw that skinny, tiny kid in the cell next to you, I didn’t think he’d last a week,” Rabastan said honestly. “But he’s a stubborn little shit, it’s what kept him alive at first no doubt.”

Sirius’ grey eyes darkened, remembering all too easily that day when Harry had arrived in Azkaban. It had taken two weeks for him to realize who the boy was, thanks to the guards taunting the skinny twelve-year-old. It had knocked the wind out of him, transforming and sliding through the bars into the next cell so that he could confirm what he’d heard. The last place that precious young child had belonged was in Azkaban prison.

“He’s the person that deserved to be there the least,” Sirius spat. “I may not have betrayed the Potters, but he was just a child! I can’t imagine the idiocy required to put a mere boy in Azkaban, even if he was supposed to be in medium security!”

Rabastan’s eyes were dark as well. “They were fools jumping at shadows,” he said bitterly. “It’s what our Ministry has devolved to, a bunch of cowards sticking their heads in the sand instead of taking a good, hard look at how they run our government. That is why our Lord’s methods have to be so violent in the first place. If he did things the ‘civilized way’, there would be nothing left. We’re already an international laughingstock.”

“I never really understood,” Sirius mused, taking a sip of his water. “Between that and the propaganda the Ministry and Dumbledore spread, I just judged your actions,” he looked at Rabastan with an apologetic expression.

Rabastan waved his hand, dismissing Sirius’ apology. “It’s what most do, sadly. I’m not worried about it; they will see in the end that the actions we took were necessary. Harsh, bloody, but necessary.”

Sirius was contemplating that statement when his magic suddenly told him something was _wrong. Wrong, wrong, WRONG!_ His fingers sprang open of their own accord, the glass tumbler sliding through his slack hold and shattering on the floor. Without even a pause his wand was in his hand and he was running out of the dueling chambers, racing down the hallway. He followed the tug of his magic, specifically his connection to Harry, skidding around a corner.

At the sight that met him, his eyes went black with rage. Antonin Dolohov stood in the middle of the hallway, holding a long, curved dagger that was dripping blood onto one of Narcissa’s expensive carpets. At his feet, unconscious with a rapidly spreading pool of blood from the gaping wound on his back, was _Harry._ A fierce snarl curled Sirius’ upper lip, sound akin to a growl leaving his lips. He snapped his wand towards Dolohov, who stupidly had his back to Sirius, having not realized that anyone else was present besides himself and Harry.

A very deep purple whip of magic left Sirius’ wand, rope-like in appearance. It wrapped around a startled Dolohov’s neck and hauled him off his feet, just short of snapping his fragile neck. Sirius snapped his wand back towards himself, yanking Dolohov off the ground and slamming him into a porcelain vase, which fell with a loud shattering sound while Dolohov was brought to face the irate visage of Sirius Black, hovering a few inches off the ground by his neck.

The Death Eater’s face paled, whether from Sirius’ furious expression or the lack of oxygen in his lungs Sirius did not care. He stared at the coward, vibrating with fury. “I knew you hated Harry from the moment we started teaching him,” Sirius snarled, “but I didn’t realize you’d be such a _coward_ as to stab him in the back. Perhaps that’s the only way you could think to get rid of him, considering how much of a superior wizard he is to you?”

Antonin’s face turned a weird mix of red and pale at the insult, opening his mouth to retort. Naught but a strangled cough left his mouth however, unable to gather even the breath needed to defend himself. Sirius was _shaking _with fury, cutting the spell to the noose holding Dolohov and snapping his wand, the Cruciatus Curse coming so easily to his call that he hadn’t needed to utter the spell. The man was writhing on the floor, shrieking in agony. Sirius kept it on him, taking a sort of grim satisfaction at the blood that began to run from his nose, mouth and ears. Antonin always acted so superior, but he turned into a blubbering mass of flesh the same as any other under this spell.

Sirius cut the spell, stamping down on the man’s wand and shattering it, along with his unfortunate wrist, earning a new shriek of agony from the Death Eater. Eyes still black with fury, he whirled on Rabastan, who had followed him at a slower pace and was staring at Dolohov with an expression of disgust on his face. “Bind him, but make sure he doesn’t die,” Sirius spat.

Lips curling in cold satisfaction, he looked down at the man who had tears, snot and blood running down his face in equal measure. “I believe Harry should have the opportunity to punish the coward who would stab him in the back,” Sirius said softly, coldly, enjoying how rapidly the man’s face went from pale to ashen.

He turned his back on the pair, moving to where Harry was sprawled on ground. Narcissa had appeared from somewhere and, likely realizing that her life hung on the line as well, had stabilized Harry’s injuries enough for him to be moved. Very carefully they moved him onto a conjured stretcher and left the hallway, not even giving Dolohov a backwards glance.

He would get his just desserts, of that Sirius was certain.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antonin gets his due.
> 
> Warning: slightly gory chapter. It's not horrible because I get squeamish, but it's there.  
I don't own Harry Potter.  
Words: 2,158

It was only because he knew that his Heir’s companion was correct in his assertations that when informed, Voldemort had not reduced Antonin to a puddle of slime on the floor. His _rage_ upon hearing about what had happened to his Heir was a tangible thing, sending his Inner Circle cowering to the floor of the Manor when he was informed. All but the erstwhile white sheep of his family, whose eyes echoed his own anger. Black stood tall and firm, eyes blazing with a fury to match or even exceed his own, controlled by only sheer force of will.

His respect for the pureblood rose by several notches, finally perhaps beginning to get that Black cared about his Heir as much as himself, if not more. He could see a lot of the man’s anger was directed at himself, believing that he could have stopped the attack if he’d been present. Voldemort said nothing, letting the man hold to his public face amongst the Inner Circle, knowing how important image and perceived strength were in the political and personal dance his followers played amongst each other. He did not blame Black, Antonin had acted as only a coward would, waiting for a moment when his Heir was alone.

It took two days for Harry to wake, two days in which Black remained at his side in silent, seething vigil. When Healers attempted to get him to leave for testing or to rest and take sustenance, he silenced their attempts with a single withering glare. The only Healer who seemed to realize that Sirius was a permanent fixture while Harry was in their care was the Flint daughter, Claire.

Of course, Voldemort’s rage at what had happened was as comparable to Harry’s own reaction upon waking as a star was to a solar flare. When he first woke up and realization hit him, the Manor itself shook upon its foundations for a long moment. It was hours later, as evening hit, that they were gathered in the cellars of Malfoy Manor, in a large room bare of adornment with a floor cut of crude stone. Voldemort eyed Antonin coldly, taking in the man’s pale features and haggard appearance with a snort of derision.

Bella had been keeping him company ever since she was informed what had happened, waking him up whenever he slipped into fatigued sleep. She’d been entertaining him with crucios and small cutting hexes, making his life miserable without ever going too far and granting him relief or death. Even now she glared at him with an unstable gleam in her eyes, taking personal affront at his attack on one she considered her protégé of sorts. Unable to control herself, she reached out and slapped him, her long nails cutting across his face under his left eye.

He hung upside down in the center, revolving on the spot, bound in gossamer threads of Voldemort’s magic, rich black in color. At the moment he was gagged as well, Voldemort didn’t want to listen to him begging for mercy quite yet. He watched, fascinated, as the man’s face paled to an ashen color, eyes widening as his body subtly shook in terror. He flicked ruby eyes towards the entrance, knowing what he would see.

Harry walked into the room, strides flowing and graceful as ever through sheer effort. Even though he knew his Heir’s right shoulder was far from healed, he was not favoring it in the slightest. He was absolutely expressionless; his face could have been carved from the finest stone. Half-pace behind him, guarding his injured right shoulder, Sirius shot Antonin a look that would cause the strongest of men to flinch. Far from the strongest, Antonin actually _whimpered_ a little behind his gag, earning a disgusted look from some of the others.

Wide-eyed and nearly as pale as Dolohov, the Malfoy heir stood between his sire and his mother, barely concealing his terror and his desire to be elsewhere. Voldemort snorted to himself, disappointed with the cowering guppy that was supposed to be Lucius’ heir. The boy was spoiled beyond measure, flouncing around under his name and expecting it to mean something. He knew of his Heir’s ruthless _corrections_ while in Slytherin, taking a grim sort of pleasure out of it. While his own half-blood status wasn’t as well-known, what his Heir was doing at the school was something he had longed to do for many decades.

“We are here to see to the judgement and execution of a traitor,” Voldemort began coolly, watching Dolohov’s trembling increase in frequency and strength at his words. “This piece of _scum_ is not only a traitor but a craven man, attacking a wizard he knew to be his better when his back was turned. By attacking Potter, Antonin, you have attacked myself as well.”

Curious as to what excuses would fall from the man’s lips, Voldemort flicked his wand, removing the gag. Words began to pour from the man’s lips, absent his usual arrogant grace or control. “I did not attack you, my Lord. I never would attack you. That filthy creature doesn’t deserve to stand in your presence. He dealt you insult as a mere babe when he should have been dead alongside his blood-traitor father and Mudblood whore of a mother. He has never deserved the attention showered on him by his betters, he who would never improve Magic.”

Black was audibly growling in rage, his magic snapping out as Dolohov finished. It wrapped around Dolohov’s bound body and twisted, snapping free. With an audible _CRACK_, several of the man’s bones in his bound wand arm snapped simultaneously, earning a scream of agony from Antonin’s mouth. All Harry did was reach to the right of him, taking Black’s left forearm in his own. The man stilled, a look of ugly satisfaction on his face at Antonin’s pitiful cries.

“I think my Inner Circle takes exception to your slanderous words towards one of their own,” Voldemort answered mildly. “You believe us to be brought down by Potter’s presence? Far from it, he elevates us further with his devotion and loyalty. We consider him to be worth twenty of you, Dolohov, if not more. If it were up to us, you would be dead and rotting already, but we realize that your victim may want to have his own say.”

Looking at his Heir, Voldemort said, “He is all yours, Harry. Make his death painful.”

The first sign of emotion crossed Harry’s face in the form of a vicious, bloodthirsty smile. His green eyes focused on Dolohov’s spinning form with lethal intensity, head cocking to the side as he considered.

“I would not improve Magic?” Harry questioned, his tone silky. “You have offered many insults against my blood, Dolohov, is yours any different. Because you are a vaunted pureblood does your blood become gold or precious metal? Is it sweeter for it’s purity?”

He drew a familiar curved blade. It was the same one Dolohov had stabbed him in the back with. Considering the bound body in front of him, his hand flashed out and Dolohov screamed as the blade embedded itself in the back of his shoulder, the same one he’d stabbed. Harry twisted the blade, opening up the wound further and cracking the collarbone with an audible _snap._ He wrenched the blade free, staring at the dripping weapon.

“What do you know?” he whispered, staring into Antonin’s watery eyes, rivers of tears running along the man’s forehead into his hair. “No blue blood, no precious metal. It’s just the same as mine. Did you know, when you’re stabbed in the right place you can taste your own blood in your throat? It’s a coppery, metallic taste, heavy and foreign on the tongue.”

Eyes locked on Dolohov, he flicked out his tongue and tasted the blood coating the edge of the blade. Smirking he said coldly, “Tastes the same as well.”

Voldemort found his eyes caught between his Heir and the Malfoy boy, who was a couple of months older. The boy’s pale face was ashen in complexion, tinted barely green with the desire to vomit as he watched the gruesome display in front of him. Almost exactly the same age, yet decades apart as far as maturity and strength went. He watched, curious, as his Heir broke several bones in strategic places; both kneecaps, both wrists, the elbow of his undamaged arm.

He turned, locking green eyes on flinty silver. “Have at it,” he purred to Black. A nasty grin curled the man’s lips and he flicked his wand, casting _Crucio_ on the gasping, trembling lump of bound flesh that had once been one of Voldemort’s elite. As the man’s body contorted under the spell, his screams reaching new heights, Voldemort suddenly understood. Each of the bones Harry had broken were connective joints, under a Cruciatus Curse they took a tremendous amount of stress in normal circumstances. The agony would be redoubled with them broken.

Black finally cut the spell, leaving Dolohov dangling limp and almost lifeless in his bonds. Blood poured from his cuts and pooled from his lips, aggravated by the torture curse. His limbs rested in unnatural positions; the joints no longer capable of holding him straight. His eyes were dull, his pain threshold reached and exceeded. As Harry approached him, dagger in hand, he whispered a broken, harsh, “_Please.”_

Harry locked acid-green eyes on him, waiting. Eyeing the lump of flesh spinning in the middle of the circle, he nodded. As he put the blade to the man’s throat and sliced across, cutting through the jugular and major arteries, he said coldly, “You would never be of greater worth to me than my Heir, Dolohov.”

Around the room, the Inner Circle inhaled in shock. Dolohov’s eyes widened in sudden, terrified comprehension of just how badly he had messed up. His lips parted on a final word just as his eye dulled, life draining from them almost visibly. Voldemort cut the spell suspending his body, dropping the corpse to the ground with a dull _flump._

“Let his death stand as a warning to you all,” Voldemort said coldly. “Harry is my Heir, an attack on him is an attack against my person as well. Mercy and forgiveness will _not _be granted to the fool who moves against him.”

* * *

Draco left the room as soon as he possibly could, his father’s disdainful sneer following him out. He rushed down the hall to the bathrooms and hit the cool tile in front of the toilet in time to vomit the entire contents of his stomach. Every time he tried to stop himself, images would flash in front of his eyes and his stomach would lurch again. Eventually only bile came up and he slumped to the cold tile, feeling fevered and ill.

He had known that Dolohov would be executed, there had been no doubt about it with how furious the Dark Lord had been. He also knew that Potter had a cruel, dark streak in him. He knew first hand that the other enjoyed causing pain and was far more powerful than any wizard Draco knew aside from maybe the Dark Lord himself. But the gruesome sight of Dolohov screaming for mercy and Potter licking the curved dagger that had been used to stab him in the back made him shudder.

His brain was spinning and he knew the greatest piece of information was the one he hadn’t contemplated yet. The fact that Potter was the Dark Lord’s chosen Heir. He knew his father would be furious, the man had planned for years to be the one elevated. A pureblood from an old family, he supposedly was the physical embodiment of the Dark Lord’s cause and ideals. Draco had long had his own private doubts about it, but had remained quiet on the subject.

Now he knew that his private doubts were correct and his family would never be elevated to that desired post. Instead, the one who had been chosen was a half-blood. Rumored purification ritual aside, Potter had a dangerous amount of power combined with an instability that reminded Draco of his dreaded Aunt Bella. He shuddered, realizing that he was lucky to be alive. He’d been taunting, undermining and attempting to reveal the Dark Lord’s Heir at Hogwarts. He was lucky that he wasn’t dead alongside his godfather Severus.

Resentment filled him as he lay there on the floor. But cold sense overruled his passionate anger. He would not be supported over the Heir. If it came down to it, he and his family were expendable to the Dark Lord’s goals, Potter was not. It was possibly time to reevaluate his position in the Dark side. After all, to be a Malfoy meant one had to be flexible, to stay on top of a shifting tide. The tides had shifted in a monumental way, now he needed to as well.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is more of an interlude than an actual chapter. There's not even dialogue. BUT... this marks an important turning point in the storyline...
> 
> I don't own Harry Potter.  
Warnings: mild language  
Words: 1,273

The library at Malfoy Manor was one of its crowning jewels, yet hardly anyone currently in residence seemed to realize the fact. There were over a thousand tomes contained within, each carefully slotted into its own spot on a shelf with exquisite detail and effort so that not one of them were damaged by overcrowding or less reverent hands. There was a charm in the room to keep the shelves and books dust-free, another more complex one monitored the air in the room, keeping excessive moisture out.

Someone in the Malfoy family had taken a great deal of time to create and maintain this collection, yet now it was squandered on the current generation. It filled Harry with a fierce contempt, the lack of care the family had for what was entrusted to them. He strolled amongst the heavy wooden cases, looking for one specific tome. Black in color with gold gilded writing on the cover.

He was not alone; Sirius had become his shadow ever since the incident with Dolohov. He was likely in another section, looking up spells he could prank the Lestrange brothers with. Spotting a possibility, Harry reached up just above his head and pulled down a heavy book, his injured shoulder twinging in response. A hot, seething _rage_ filled him in response at the reminder, setting the heavy book on a nearby table so that he wouldn’t drop it. His hands clenched into fists.

It was humiliating that _Dolohov _of all people had managed to get the jump on him, but such was the facts of the matter. Harry had left Bella in the sunroom and ducked into a nearby parlor to speak with Rodolphus. Antonin had been in the room as well, staring at him with his usual poorly hidden resentment. Finishing his conversation with the elder Lestrange brother, Harry had left the parlor, intending on searching down Sirius and Rabastan.

Dolohov had followed him, waiting until he was sure Rodolphus couldn’t see them. The white-hot _agony _that had filled his body when Dolohov viciously stabbed him was followed with near-instant unconsciousness, the man having somehow missed any vital organs despite being directly behind Harry. For which he was thankful, certainly, it was just annoying to have to deal with the slowly-healing muscles in his shoulder.

Harry smirked, remembering the expressions on the faces of the Inner Circle when Voldemort had revealed that Harry was his Heir. The look of dismay and terror on Dolohov’s face just before he’d slit the traitor’s throat had been _satisfying_ to say the least. Nearly as pleasurable had been the Malfoy’s expressions. It had to be Lucius’ worst nightmare, not only was he a member of the Inner Circle, but the Dark Lord’s chosen Heir.

_Though,_ Harry mused, staring at the book in front of him, _Voldemort may not have been so quick to name me his Heir if he knew what I was doing now._ The edges of the pages were yellowed with age, despite the greatest of care being taken, this book was centuries old and had sustained some wear and tear. Thanks to ‘_Light’_ witches and wizards burning or otherwise destroying the book, there were only a few remaining copies of this book in the world.

_Secrets of the Darkest Art._

Harry’s unstoppable Legilimency came with a unique little _perk,_ one he hadn’t disclosed to the Dark Lord. Due to his innate skill with the ability, he could riffle through a person’s memories without alerting them that he was even there. They remained undisturbed, not even showing before the owner of the memory as they played. He could nip into someone’s mind, pull out their darkest secret and then leave without them even knowing he’d been in their mind.

Harry had been judicious with his little talent when the Dark Lord had asked him if he could get into the elder wizard’s mind. To Voldemort’s knowledge, he’d slid past his barriers, made his presence noticeable and then left. The older wizard didn’t know that Harry had only made it _seem_ as though he’d exited his memories when asked. In reality he’d been flicking through memories at his leisure the entire time they had been talking afterwards.

He’d come across some surprising tidbits and then a few truly _interesting _ones. Including one that referenced the tome in front of him and an object called a ‘Horcrux’. Hence his trip to the Malfoy library, as he’d known that the ridiculously old family would have a copy of the tome. The Blacks likely did as well, but he didn’t want to involve Sirius in this just yet. The other man had very good Occlumency shields, but it was hard to hide anything from the Dark Lord.

Opening the heavy book, he noticed there was an entire chapter devoted to it, simply called _On Horcruxes_, under the category _Necromancy._ Finding the appropriate page number, he began to read.

*

It was only when Sirius came looking for him, concerned, that he realized how long he had been standing there, absorbing the information. The book was still open to the last page of the chapter, forgotten as Harry absorbed the depth of what he’d just read. _To split the soul…_ No wonder Voldemort had lost what remained of Tom Riddle years ago! By what he had read and what he’d seen in the Dark Lord’s mind, there was very little shred of his humanity or even sanity left.

_Seven pieces… damn magicals and their numbers!_ Harry resisted reaching up and touching the faint impression left of his scar, realizing that it had likely contained a piece of Voldemort’s soul, unintentionally. What better way to cap his immortality than with the death of his prophesied opponent? But _how… _he paused in his thought process, mind going back to the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets and the fang that had pierced his arm.

Truly he had felt a pain like no other, but the death most said was instantaneous had failed to come, only a slow, numbing sensation. The Horcrux, he realized now, had stopped the venom from instantly killing a skinny, underfed twelve-year-old boy. The Horcrux within him had taken the brunt of the venom, dying a slow death inside his scar. It was after that, in his prison cell, that the scar had begun to fade.

The diary he had destroyed was another, he realized swiftly. It explained both the odd sentient qualities from the book as well as Voldemort’s reaction when he’d told the man he’d destroyed it. Which meant… the locket Sirius had retrieved was another. That was three, two without the unintentional one inside him, so what could the other four be?

Moreover, what was he going to do with the information? Should he do anything, or would it best to just let Dumbledore and Voldemort fight it out, turning the tides when the time was right? People would call him selfish, a traitor, cold, ruthless or pragmatic if they knew what he was contemplating now. Harry didn’t care. He and Sirius would come out on top at the end of all of this mess, that was all that mattered in the end.

He returned _Secrets of the Darkest Art _to its shelf, making sure that it was returned so carefully it was impossible to tell that it had been used recently. Afterwards he tracked down Sirius, sitting a few rows over in a plush armchair, and they made their way out of the library. He now knew the Dark Lord’s greatest secret and number one fear. Only one question remained.

What was he going to do with it?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much forwarding of the plot here, but interesting none the less I hope.
> 
> Words: 1,856  
I don't own Harry Potter.

Harry leaned back in his seat in his chosen compartment on the Hogwarts Express, his persona as ‘Seth Griffin’ donned once again, with considerable reluctance. He despised wearing the glamour, despised acting like a teenager with no more concern than grades and dating. At least he was excused from the latter. He smiled down at his hands, eyeing the expensive, gorgeous piece of jewelry adorning his finger.

Sirius had given him a betrothal ring privately the night before they were set to return to Hogwarts. It was an antiquated tradition, but he understood the prominence of it in their society. Bellatrix had recognized it when she saw him this morning, squealing in delight. It was apparently a Black heirloom, but one that was so old only members of the direct family would recognize it. It’s age helped to explain the sheer weight and opulence of the thing, more ostentatious than anything Harry had worn before.

Made of solid silver, the inside of the band had the Black crest carved into it, inlaid with shimmery diamond dust. On either side of the main stone were three princess-cut sapphires of rich, deep blue. The diamond that surmounted the ring was carefully cut into the shape of an open rose, clear with ruby red tips. It was a stunning work of art, the faceted diamond flickering from different angles giving the illusion of soft, realistic petals.

It was the only ring Harry wore openly. He stared at the other, smirking. He had been notified by Gringotts that they wished to speak with him, discreetly of course. He had gone without his usual escort, Sirius staying behind with visible annoyance and apprehension. Harry appreciated his desire and willingness to support Harry, but the other had been somewhat smothering of late. He knew that Sirius feared something happening to him like the incident with Dolohov, but enough was enough.

So he had gone alone, ushered in to speak with Griphook post haste by a courteous goblin teller. The goblins weren’t fond of wizards, that much was the truth. But they were keen enough to know that antagonizing individuals as powerful as Harry had proved himself to be was not wise. So, in the name of profit, the shrewd business acumen dictated their behavior towards him. It was one relationship that Harry had no intention of attempting to manipulate to his further advantage.

It seemed, once he was seated before Griphook, that the goblin had noticed a very prominent, old magical family at the recess of his family tree. With a drop of blood the suspicion had been confirmed and Harry had taken control of the Peverell line as the last direct Heir. He had reverted the Potter name to Peverell, getting rid of the ostentatious gold and garnet ring that reminded him far too much of Gryffindor.

Instead, the Peverell ring, believed lost, had been summoned to Griphook’s office by a combination of Harry’s proven worthiness and a bit of goblin magic. Imagine his almost gleeful surprise when he realized that the Peverell ring had _somehow_ fallen into the Dark Lord’s hands and contained one of his Horcruxes. After leaving Griphook’s office, he’d leveled an exceptionally powerful Killing Curse at the ring, destroying the Horcrux within.

The white gold ring with a black stone sat on his finger now, under a blood glamour keyed to only Harry for the moment. As it had been one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes, he knew the Dark Lord would be most wroth with him if he found out Harry had destroyed the object, Heir or no. As for why he hadn’t told Sirius about the ring… he still wasn’t convinced that this whole matter wouldn’t blow up spectacularly in his face.

At the time that he’d sworn his loyalty to Voldemort, Harry had realized that the man was his best option. His alternative had been rotting away in Azkaban until the sheep came to their senses. Not a palatable option, especially considering how _long _he and Sirius could have stayed in the prison. So he’d taken the opportunity and convinced the Dark Lord that he was no longer loyal to Dumbledore, which was true enough.

But nor was he loyal to Voldemort. Harry was loyal to only three things; Magic, Sirius and himself. The current stagnant state of Magic had him seething in fury. It wasn’t _right,_ the way they had tried to constrain Magic to human laws. It was _wrong,_ leaving a foul taste in his mouth and a slick, oily stain on his fingers whenever he was around other magic users. His goal? Remove the laws and shackles that attempted to make Magic something that pitiful human minds could _understand._

Along the way, he would remove every obstacle that stood in his way, or that of his and Sirius’ future. Unfortunately, the more time he spent in Voldemort’s presence, the more he was convinced that the Dark Lord was one of those obstacles. Certainly saner than Harry had been expecting him to be, the man had still surrendered too much of his humanity by creating the Horcruxes, losing more and more of his grasp of reality with each.

He was a promising hound gone rabid. A wise king who became a dictator. A man, put on a pedestal, who had let his importance cause his downfall. It was a shame, Tom Marvolo Riddle had been a promising young Dark wizard. But his fascination and obsession with immortality had ruined things, tainting the promise he showed with bitterness. Now, like a rabid dog, Harry was going to have to put him down.

But he had his uses still. For now, Dumbledore was more focused on Voldemort than anything else, leading to a peripheral blindness that would be fatal to an old man’s slowed instincts. Harry crept in the shadows unnoticed, sowing the seeds of destruction and dissent that would lead to his downfall. It would begin now, with the return to Hogwarts and the Inquiry that the Board of Governors was sending to investigate the questions that had arisen with the death of two professors on school grounds.

Lupin had served an important purpose, Harry mused with a slow, reminiscent grin. More so than he’d probably served in all of his pathetic life until then. Harry amused himself waiting for the train to leave the station by remembering the perfection that had been Severus’ execution by a deranged, feral werewolf. The high and mighty Potions Master had died screaming, like anyone else would in his situation. The only thing that would have been better would be if he’d lowered his pride and _begged._

Harry pouted, wondering if he would ever hear one of his victims begging for mercy, other than Dolohov and the sniveling Malfoy heir, of course. It was such a perfect noise, the desperation and realization in their voices, coating and imbibing their words with the anticipation of impending pain and death. He had more potential victims; Granger, a few of the Weasleys, Dumbledore himself. Harry perked up visibly at the thought, certain that he would get to hear the sweet sound after all.

As the train pulled away from the station, Harry made himself comfortable and waited for Theodore to inevitably find his chosen compartment. The other teenager seemed to gravitate towards him, as if he exerted an unconscious magnetic pull. It amused Harry to observe and subtly influence, curious as to the why of it. Some credit no doubt belonged to his magical aura and the power he exuded. But the rest was a mystery for the moment.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall of his compartment, content to relax in his own company until something more interesting came his way.

* * *

Theodore headed through the corridor of the second train car, drawn to the first compartment. Normally inhabited by Malfoy and his sycophants, Theodore could _feel_ that there was someone else using the compartment this journey. As he walked, he marveled at the sheer _power_ that Harry Potter continually released from his slim form. To one like Theodore, sensitive to and trained to detect magical auras, the Dark Lord’s Heir radiated strength.

Hadn’t that been the little surprise of the winter season? If not for Dolohov’s sheer stupidity, Theodore wondered how long they may have been kept in the dark as to Harry’s true importance. Theodore had suspected something, anyone with a _brain_ would have suspected something after the death of Severus and Lupin. Not to mention the fact that the Dark Lord had marked a teenager at all. In hindsight, the modification to his vows of loyalty made perfect sense.

Perhaps the Dark Lord had been leading them to that conclusion all along, leaving little breadcrumbs for those smart enough to realize them for the clues they were. His vows, the impertinence that Voldemort allowed, the mask studded with gemstones… He’d made it clear from the start that Harry Potter was different from the rest, they just hadn’t realized _how._

Theo opened the door to the compartment, sliding inside. He’d loaded his trunk in the baggage car, taking only a satchel with him for things to amuse himself with on the journey. The enchantment with the ride from the platform to the school had worn off after the first couple of terms, now it was something he endured with impatience. He eyed Harry in amusement, taking in his complete lack of concern with another student entering the room. No doubt he’d recognized Theo’s aura, but still.

He looked over the teen, seeing his true image and not the glamour that he wore, thanks to the complex spellwork that keyed in those ‘in the know’. When his eyes fell on the teen’s hands, he raised an eyebrow in surprise. The extravagant betrothal ring had an amused smile quirking his lips. That had not been on his friend’s hand when he had seen him last. So, Lord Black had finally offered him a formal betrothal. About time. He’d seen bits and pieces of how the two interacted with each other over the holidays, their devotion to each other was obvious. There would no doubt be some envious males and females at Hogwarts and amongst the Dark at the loss of both gorgeous, powerful wizards.

Surprisingly, Draco did not attempt to take back ‘his’ compartment on the ride to Hogwarts. Either the teen was still subdued from his last encounter with Harry (probable), or he was stunned and cowed by the revelation of who Harry was to the Dark (guaranteed). In any case, it was a surprising amount of _sense_ from the normally arrogant and self-centered teen. It would be interesting to see how long it lasted.

Theo settled into his seat across from Harry and withdrew a book, soon losing himself in the words written on the page. Thus he missed the small twist of the lips of his companion, which could have been a smile. The holidays had finished and term had begun, with it new challenges and power plays. Such was the life of a seventh-year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _Joy_.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Term resumes, we have a few thoughts from Dumbles and a smidge from Sirius. Next chapter the Board arrives and the Inquiry commences...
> 
> Words: 1,610  
Mild language.  
I don't own Harry Potter.

Sitting at his customary spot, Albus Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed as he stared out across the chatting students. Not a reflection of displeasure at any particular student, his expression reflected his inner annoyance at the upcoming Inquiry. The Ministry was invading on _his_ territory. Again. He thought he’d gotten rid of them permanently a year ago when they had sent one Dolores Umbridge to ‘supervise’. A _most _unpleasant woman. She’d been kicked out before the end of term for administering detentions to students, during which she’d had them writing with a Blood Quill, a Dark artifact only used at Gringotts.

Albus had been sure that appointing the foul woman would have been the last action Cornelius took as Minister, but _somehow_ the oaf had managed to hold his tenuous grip on the highest office in Wizarding Great Britain. Grinding his teeth, Albus seethed inwardly, knowing that the reason had less to do with people’s faith in the bumbling idiot than the gold lining Lucius Malfoy’s pockets. It was convenient for Tom to have Cornelius in charge for now, he was a less than imposing opponent to his second campaign of terror.

Had they succeeded in ousting Cornelius, Albus would of course have taken the post of interim Minister, though it would be _difficult _to leave his precious school behind. By the time the politicians would have gotten around to holding another election, the public would be clamoring for him to stay. As both Headmaster and Minister, considering how well he’d been running both. Having his goals blocked by a stubborn leech was mightily insulting.

The Board selected for the Inquiry was arriving today, Albus had left appointment of guest quarters for them up to his Deputy. Minerva had been huffy at him all day today, insisting that the Board would feel slighted by his actions. He cared not. They would find _nothing_ to support the idea that the deaths of Severus Snape at the hands of Remus Lupin was anything more than a tragic accident. He already had everything planned, including what to say to soothe ruffled feathers when Severus’ Dark Mark popped up.

Students had been back in classes for a week now. Zrada had been running Defense with a competence that was worrisome for the Headmaster. He didn’t actually _want_ the general populace able to defend themselves with any success, it lessened the impact when he and his Order came to the rescue. But it was the final term for future members of his Order and he wanted them fairly capable, he admitted in annoyance.

Potions and Slytherin house had been taken over by their former Head, Horace Slughorn. Convincing the stubborn man had been costly, to Albus’ irritation. Drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table, he nearly snorted. The man had demanded a king’s ransom for his salary, more than four times what he was paying most of the other professors! He’d dropped it down to three with promises of Horace’s preferred sweet monthly. Candied pineapple was surprisingly expensive.

His eyes flicked over the student populace, noting the most important individuals. The Hufflepuffs contained no one noteworthy to Albus aside from Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, both of whom had family in the Wizengamot. They were concentrating on their breakfast this morning; small snippets of conversations being exchanged over meals.

The Gryffindors were as loud and boisterous as normal, even for how early it was. Some were looking barely awake, while others were alert and laughing. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley sat approximately halfway down the table, discussing something private with serious expressions. Likely Miss Granger was reminding the youngest male Weasley about the Board’s arrival. Good girl. He could count on her to keep Gryffindor in line.

The Ravenclaws were nearly silent, many absorbed in books and only half-heartedly attempting to eat. Some were engaged in conversation, but next to the loud Gryffindor table, they were almost silent. Some shot an occasional narrow-eyed glare at the other table, sniping at a nearby student to pipe down a bit.

The Slytherins to the far right were actually silent, sitting straight and elegant at their table as they broke their fast before beginning classes. Every move was dainty and deliberate, refinement and good breeding visible in nearly all of the students. All the way down to the first years, who sat closest to the Head Table.

Albus inwardly sneered as he cataloged the students. _Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Bulstrode, Parkinson, Greengrass, Davis, Malfoy._ Almost all Death Eaters, all from Dark families. He would be happy to pitch the lot of them in the Black Lake, their ‘airs and graces’ house as well. Nothing _good_ ever came out of Slytherin. As always when he was making that assessment, he ignored the fact that Merlin himself had come from Slytherin as well as his cousin, Morgana Le Fay.

His eyes landed on the enigma that was the transfer student, seventh-year Seth Griffin. Unassuming aside from his elegant looks that bespoke centuries of careful breeding, the boy was very quiet. Yet he’d made an impact on almost all of the Professors, who waxed poetically about his skill and control over his magic. And then there was the newest addition. The outrageously expensive betrothal ring on his finger. If that had not come from an _old, _possibly Ancient family than he would eat the Sorting Hat.

The only one who seemed to sit willingly near the teen was Nott, even now sitting directly across from him. But their interactions with each other were polite and cool, certainly not that of lovers. In fact, he’d never seen the boy act _in love_ with any student in these halls. Which meant there was a good possibility it was an adult in their society, likely a Dark pureblood with how much that ring probably cost.

He’d tried to enquire into the ring the day term had officially started back up, but while Griffin’s words and demeanor had been polite, the essential tone of his words was ‘_none of your damn business’._ Albus had been forced to retreat with visibly ruffled feathers, seething inwardly at the disrespect the little cretin had showed him. Sadly, he’d done it in front of other instructors and his words couldn’t be misconstrued as insulting in any way, so Albus had been forced to let him go. He wasn’t even able to give the boy a detention for his sheer cheek!

Seth Griffin was dangerous. He had no information on the boy besides what he’d been given. Thus, he had no way to hold the boy in line. He was a loose cannon and with this Inquiry going on, a threat. He would bear careful watching for the next week or so, at least until the Board was gone. Preferably until he had some type of influence over him.

Oh yes, he would need supervision indeed.

His eyes flicked over to Hermione and Ron, a grin crossing his face. He had a new project for the pair. He just hoped they would be up to the task.

* * *

Sirius had been watching Harry, a smile threating to creep onto his cool, disdainful expression as he saw his family betrothal ring glint in the light of the sconces. It had felt _good_ to slide that ring on his finger, finally marking Harry to all and sundry as _his._ Sirius was a possessive man, easily prone to jealous, covetous behavior. It was one of the major reasons why none of his relationships up until now had lasted very long. He had enjoyed his playboy reputation, true, but what had turned off so many to his natural appeal and family wealth was his darker nature towards those he considered _his._

It was one of the reasons why he had gotten along so easily with Lupin, right until things went to hell. But perhaps things had gone a little too well in hindsight, after all the wolf had shown no loyalty at all to him when things got rough. He resisted the urge to scowl, grinding his teeth together so hard his jaws ached. Instead, he concentrated on the happy image of the horror on Remus’ face once he’d realized who ‘Rigel Zrada’ really was.

Pulling his gaze away from Harry with reluctance, his eyes instead focused on the Headmaster, narrowing. The old man’s own eyes were fixed on Harry, absent their usual twinkle. Did he suspect? Sirius’ shoulders tensed in response, concern filling him at the idea that their cover might somehow have been blown. The twinkle came back in the man’s eyes as he pulled his gaze over to where Granger and Weasley sat. Sirius allowed a momentary frown to cross his features, wondering at the abrupt change in mood.

Though his lips also twitched in amusement. If the old man thought to get Hermione and Ron on Harry’s side, or to control him, he was going to get a very rude shock. The chances of either happening were less than nil, the only thing Harry wanted to do was put them both six feet under as painfully as possible. Sirius would gladly help him; Harry was _imaginative_ to say the least when it came to torture and death.

He sat back and waited for the Board to arrive and the ensuing fireworks to begin. He had a feeling his stay at Hogwarts was about to get a lot more entertaining. Good. He was beginning to get bored with this place again, and Harry could tell anyone, a bored Sirius Black was never a good thing.

_Then again,_ he mused with an internal wicked grin, _Hogwarts could do with some chaos._


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since our last update:  
I finished Reprise, my largest work to date.  
I just finished week 11 of 16 college homework.  
I changed job descriptions and hours (evenings to early morning).  
I started another story!
> 
> I'm sorry this took so long, but as you can see, I've been rather busy. I'll get a brief reprieve from classes with about 2-3 weeks off, so hopefully I'll get some more writing done.
> 
> In this update: The Board of Inquiry members, as well as Harry's actions that will ensure things go his way. 'Chaos in Hogwarts' as Sirius put it.  
Words: 2,120  
Violence, language, character bashing of a sort (Ron)

“Dumbledore is slipping if he thinks those two are any match for you,” Theodore commented, watching Granger and Weasley send what they thought were covetous glances in ‘Seth’s’ direction. “They’re as likely to get anywhere near you as you are to turn ‘Light’.”

Harry snorted at Theodore’s accurate, concise summation of the situation. All the pair had succeeded in doing so far was irritating the ever-loving _shit _out of him, not that he could do anything about it. The Board of Inquiry members had been introduced three days prior; to Dumbledore’s horror not one of them were individuals sympathetic to his cause or the vaunted Order of the Phoenix.

Leading the panel was Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Representing the Board of Governors that oversaw Hogwarts was none other than Lucius Malfoy. The elder Malfoy’s presence at the school irritated Harry, but he knew the man was smart enough not to cross the Dark Lord’s Heir, no matter how much he resented Harry for being said Heir. The brief second that the man had caught the eyes of ‘Seth’, Harry made sure that he was… aware that he needed to toe the line.

Infighting amongst the Death Eaters was normal, encouraged even to a certain degree. But Voldemort wanted Hogwarts, _Harry_ wanted Hogwarts. They needed it out of a manipulative old man’s control, now. Lucius would try to discredit him somehow, of which Harry had not a single doubt. Harry would be more than willing to put Lucius Malfoy in his place when that happened, but not at the cost of the larger goal.

Also on the Inquiry as concerned citizens were the Lord Greengrass, Lord Boot, Lady McMillan and the formidable Dowager Longbottom. It was not a coincidence that each represented their former Hogwarts house in this endeavor. Inquiries into the running of Hogwarts were designed as such so that an old school bias would be tempered by other more logical parties.

Last night, Harry had been up well into the late hours, tracking down the warding stone that controlled the defenses that were around the school. Noting what was already there and the existing damage, Harry had weakened a couple of them to more dangerous levels. One for dark creatures, such as Lupin and another for those with imbued marks (the Dark Mark). He also tugged a little here and there on the defenses of the school, weakening the surveillance and anti-Apparition wards.

Nothing too horrible on its own, just indicating general wear and tear. But together, cumulatively, especially with the dark creature and Dark Mark allowances… Bones, as Head of the DMLE, would be horrified. That, along with the incident with Snape and Lupin, would warrant further investigation. Once she started dosing students and staff with Veritaserum… Dumbledore’s house of cards would come tumbling down in a spectacular explosion.

_Especially,_ he thought, narrowing his eyes on two irritating Gryffindors, _if a student were attacked inside the school while they were here._

It seemed he had a use for one of the two cretin that used to be his ‘friends’ after all.

A cold smile curled his lips in anticipation. It would be… divine.

* * *

Ronald Weasley gave an angry sigh as he set out to patrol the opposite corridor from his girlfriend. He loved Hermione, but sometimes he wished she would just let her hair down, figuratively of course. They’d been dating for almost two years and while their ‘extracurricular activities’ had been satisfying, she was still _such_ a stickler for the rules. “_We’re not supposed to patrol the same corridor, Ron! That’s the whole point of having two Head Students, we’re supposed to be helping monitor the entire school! I would think you’d take this a bit more seriously, especially with the war and everything.”_

Blah, blah. So on and so forth, until he was grumbling an acquiesce and moving off just to get her to shut up for a minute. Nothing had been the same, not really. Not since Ginny. An angry snarl crossed his features at the memory of his dead sister and the boy he’d once called ‘friend’. Some bloody savior the prat had turned out to be, murdering his little sister. And now his replacement was supposed to be _Neville?_ Plant-loving, dirt-scrubbing, stuttering _Neville?_

They were doomed to failure, especially as Dowager Longbottom didn’t want her precious grandson to have anything to do with Dumbledore. She blamed _him_ for the fall of Harry Potter and Voldemort before him, along with the condition of her son and daughter-by-marriage. Him and his precious Prophecy, whom no one but Albus Dumbledore knew in its entirety.

His thoughts left serious matters and the darkened corridor he entered, falling onto happier thoughts. Snogging Hermione, not bothering with the homework that seemed to pile up this year, the upcoming Quidditch match (Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw but still, Quidditch). His blue eyes lost their focus and became more and more foggy as his mind drifted elsewhere, grip slackening on his wand as a result.

He certainly never noticed the figure in all black that snuck up behind him, pointed a wand at his head and whispered, “_Imperio.”_

Despite being a member of the Order and educated on resisting the Imperius Curse, Ron had never been the strongest-willed individual. Nor had he really ever grasped the subject, much to Alastor Moody’s frustration. His blue eyes glazed over and he relinquished his hold on his wand as directed, shuffling into a nearby discarded classroom.

By the time he had his mental faculties back, he was bound to a chair by ropes, his wand lying on a desk across the room, with powerful silencers and a locking charm on the door. His eyes widened and he struggled futilely against his bonds, trying to find his attacker in the darkened classroom.

* * *

Harry sneered from the darkened corner, staring at the struggling redhead in disgust. It had been child’s play to slip into the other’s mind and take control. He was such a lack of challenge that Harry was almost insulted. _This_ was considered an acceptable candidate for Dumbledore’s precious Order? No wonder they were losing so badly if this was the best they could offer.

He had taken every precaution to _not_ be recognized tonight. Dressed in plain all-black clothing and leather gloves, he added a hooded black cloak for drama and a plain, transfigured silver mask that resembled a Death Eater’s attire. The only thing uncovered were his eyes, but in the voluminous depths of his cowl it was impossible to discern their color. He looked the part of a random Death Eater, a member of the Outer Circle.

For a bit of show, he conjured a small ball of crimson light to trail just behind his shoulder. A witch light, not the most complicated of spells, but he did it wandlessly just for the drama. As the hazy blood-colored light reached Ron, the boy’s eyes widened in terror, his complexion paling rapidly aside from his freckles.

“H-how are you on the grounds?” he demands, shakily. “Dumbledore should be able to keep you gits out!”

Harry smirks, raises his wand and utters, “_Crucio!”_

Ron writhes in the chair, screaming at the top of his lungs. Within seconds his screams are dissolving into pathetic sobbing. Spoiled rotten by his controlling mother, he’s never had to deal with any real hardship in his life. Especially with Harry falsely imprisoned in Azkaban, his years would have been quiet. He’s as bad as Malfoy junior in his own way.

“Does that hurt?” Harry croons, a little bit of Bella’s baby talk creeping into his voice. “Has the little boy had enough fun?”

Anger lights Ron’s eyes and he snarls, “I don’t know who the _fuck _you think you are—”

As entertaining as his sudden backbone is, Harry’s not interested in talking. He knows if he lets Ron spew too many words, he may lose control and fire back. While the horror in the boy’s face when he realizes who is tormenting him would be beautiful, Harry can’t risk exposure.

Already it’s becoming difficult to control the _rage_ he feels at just the sight of Weasley. He wants to rage, to scream, to hurt and _kill._ His magic is rising in response, eagerly. The darkness surges in his veins, pressing to be used.

“_Bombarda!”_ He casts, a ‘light’ spell. But he aims the blasting hex at the boy’s left kneecap, shattering it. Screams rent the air, echoing off the stone walls.

“Scream all you want,” Harry purrs, pleasure radiating in his voice, “nobody can hear you. Your precious Headmaster could be right outside this door and not notice a thing.”

“W-what do you want?” Ron asks hoarsely, tears dripping down his long nose. He’s pale and shaking, pitiful after just moments of pain.

“For you to _hurt, _boy,” Harry snarls.

He casts another blasting hex, shattering the boy’s opposite elbow. Amidst more screams, sobbing and a bit of vomiting, he casts three cutting hexes, one at the boy’s face near his ear, another across his chest and the last, a darker one, cutting across the hamstring of his right leg.

He eyes the shaking pile of flesh in the chair in disgust, a distinct lack of satisfaction running through him from the encounter. Realizing the only satisfaction he’s going to get from Weasley is the boy’s death, Harry reaches out and slams his gloved fist into the side of the boy’s face. It fractures his cheekbone and knocks him unconscious. Backing away, Harry resists the urge to take out one of his blades and cut the vulnerable throat exposed to him so temptingly.

Instead he cancels the witch light, plunging the classroom into darkness. He casts a spell, Dark of course, that vanishes any trace of his magical aura from the room, undoing his locking and silencing spells and leaving the room. It will be some time before Weasley is found, he knows Granger is on the opposite corridor.

Sticking to the shadows, a disillusionment charm cast over his body, Harry tracks his way through the corridors to Sirius’ quarters above the Defense classroom. He gives his signature knocking pattern, alerting the man to whom is outside his door. Theodore is covering for him, again, and knows that he won’t be back until the early hours. Slughorn is a little more diligent about keeping track of his students than Snape, but he’s been giving ‘Griffin’ a lot of leeway, impressed by his talents at Potions.

He slides open the door and slips through, only canceling his spell once the door is shut and locked behind him. Sirius watches him with visible, lazy amusement, taking in his general attire. He’s wearing only a pair of black silk sleep pants, which cling to his long legs. In a slightly hoarse, sleep-fuzzed voice he says, “Death Eater sighting in the school, then?”

A tingle runs down Harry’s spine at the sound, which expresses itself in a small shiver. “Only if your name is Ronald Weasley,” he says, voice a little huskier as a result.

Sirius’ lips twitch, even as his silver eyes darken. “I was thinking Hogwarts could use a little chaos. Making trouble during the Inquiry, aren’t we bold?”

“It will help ensure Dumbledore is drummed out of here all the quicker,” Harry retorts, sliding out of his boots and black turtleneck as he speaks.

Sirius watches him with lazy nonchalance, not embarrassed in the slightest at the heat growing in his eyes as Harry continues to bare more and more pale skin. He cocks his head a little to the side, curls his lips in a sensuous smirk and purrs, “Making yourself comfortable?”

Harry refuses to blush. They’re betrothed, which is the wizarding equivalent of engagement amongst wealthier families. While he doesn’t see himself the same way Sirius does, he can’t deny how empowering it is to cause a reaction like this in the older man.

“I thought I’d crash here, if you don’t mind?” He says, the response both a question and a challenge. “I could always find my way back to Slytherin easily enough.”

“Stay,” the man rasps, _just_ shy of an arrogant command. He takes Harry’s arm, leads him to his sleeping quarters and the bed covered in deep navy silk sheets. He tugs Harry with him, dragging him onto the bed, skin touching in multiple areas. Sirius _radiates _heat, causing Harry’s muscles to uncoil without conscious thought.

He relaxes, assured that in this room, in his present company, he’s untouchable. They settle down and are almost asleep when Sirius murmurs, “I’m surprised you left him alive.”

Harry yawns, swiftly falling into sleep. He’s more than half-gone when he slurs in response, “He’s been given a reprieve.”

Temporarily.


End file.
